Skip to main content

Full text of "Poems"

See other formats

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2011 with funding from 

University of Toronto 

^a » 

jf^/ . jfi^^UM^ i 











"Begone, foolish babbler! I hate and despise thee," 
Said Newton to Poesy, turning: his back ; 
But Philosophy smiling said: — " Ddst thou not kn<)W me. 
Thine own only loved one?" and threw down her mask. 







These thoughts, while through my brain they passed, were mine; 
Passing through thy brain, reader, they are thine; 
Use them as best thou mayst; who I am, thee 
Concerns as little, as who thou art, me. 




Gome, Mary with the eyes so blue. 
Come, Mary with the heart so true, 
Come and let 's roam a while together 
In the bright, warm, sunshiny weather. 
Along the lane, beneath the trees, 
In the field or garden, where you please, 
For it 's not about the walk I care, 
But to be with you anywhere. 

If you don't like to walk, we '11 sit 

In the jessamine bower and while you knit, 

Or draw, or work in filligree, 

f, on a stool beside your knee, 

Will tell you tales, read poetry, 

Or lilt to my guitar an air. 

Not that guitar or book 's my care, 

Bdt to be with you anywhere. 

If less agreeable the bower; 
Come, let 's ascend the ruined tower 
That on the hill commands the shore 
And far off hears the breakers roar. 
There ; armed with Galilean eye, 
Every spar, sail, rope we '11 descry 
In every tall ship passing by. 
Not that for tower, sea, ship I care, 
Biit to be with you anywhere. 

If you will not the tower ascend. 

Into the wood our steps let 's bend 

And mark with what agility 

The brown squirrel bounds from tree to tree, 

Or hear the oft repeated stroke 

That fells at last old monarch oak. 

Or gather mushrooms or see glide 

The clear stream by the gray rock's side, 

Not that for stream, rock, wood I care. 

But to be with you anywhere. 

You '11 none of all; well, Mary, no; 
Out of this spot we '11 never go. 
Smile but on me those eyes so blue. 
Beat but for me that heart so true. 
Here is my world, and other none 
I recognise beneath the sun; 
Beside you here I '11 live and die. 
Beside you 's my eternity. 

Tauernhaus, Fehrleitkn, attlie foot of theGROSs-GLocKNKu, July 17, 185-1; 
and while walking from Lienz to ^Sit.ian in the Pisteutiial, July 2 L JS51. 


Let the pure unalloyed gold of this ring 
Declare the perfect love with which I love thee^ 
Let the firm; compact^ indestructible metal 
Witness my love 's no evanescent passion ; 
And the strongs massy hoop; encircling thus 
Thy slender finger, typify the pale 
Within which thou shalt pass thy days secure. 
From all harm guarded by these sheltering arms. 

Walking from Pfunds to Ried (German Tyrol), Sept. 4, 1854, 

I would not, if I could, be wise, 

I envy not the regal state. 

Wealth has small splendor in mine eyes, 

I am contented with my fate; 

I live and breathe and see the sun, 
And feel the fresh air round me blow, 
For me the earth is spread with flowers, 
For me the gurgling waters flow; 

And if I 'm loA'ed by one alone. 
Loved by one only let me be. 
For that one heart is all my own — 
Ye kings, wise, rich men, envy me. 

Landro in the valley of Ampezzo, July 22, 1854. 



TwAS on a balmy day 
In the latter end of May 
I heard the ciickoo say, 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! 

Every day in June, 
Morning, CA^ening, noon, 
She repeated the same tune, 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! 

But when burning hot July 
Flared in the summer sky. 
Ah! the cuckoo bade good bye. 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! 

Quick come again, sweet May, 
Till on a balmy day 
Again I hear her say, 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! 

While travelling in Stellwagen from Sauerloch to Holzkirchen (Bavaria), 
July 8, 1854. 


My father, spare my father," Julia cried 
And at th' inexorable Roman's feet 

Thr^w herself, tearless: — "Spare, Oh spare, my father; 
M^rcy is dearer far to heaven than justice; -5 

Mercy is fair and lovely and makes friends 
And binds with the indissoluble bond 

Of gratitude; Oh spare my father^ Roman; 

Rome is no petty state compelled to uphold 

By terror its precarious sovereignty; 

Rome can afford to have mercy on a rebel. 

Man, Roman, father, spare a man, a father, 

Spare an Helvetian guilty and repentant; 

S6 at Aventia's altar shall my prayers, 

The priestess' and the daughter's prayers, be daily 

Offered for great Rome and for thee — Oh spare him. 

Magnanimous Roman, spare him, spare him, spare him." 

In vain she supplicated and in vain 

Clung to the Consul's knees; unpitying justice 

Lopped with remorseless axe the victim's head; 

And never in Aventia's temple after 

Officiated Julia, but away 

Pined gradual and at last died brokenhearted. 

After a thousand and six hundred years 

A stone found at Aventicum affirms 

The truth of the Historian : — "Here I lie, 

Julia Alpinula, Aventia's priestess, 

111 - fated daughter of ill - fated sire : 

The sire a rebel died by the hand of justice, 

The daughter's supplication failed to save 

The father's life — her years were three and tvventy." * 

Ratisbon, June 30, 1854. 

* Julia Alpinula : Hic jaceo. Infelicis patris infelix proles. Deae 


MaN; egoistic, for his own self lives. 

Thinking he lives for honor, virtue, fame, 

Or for his country, as he 's pleased to call 

The land which chanced to give the egoist birth; 

Woman, devoted woman, knows no self. 

Lives only in and for the egoist 

Who in the name of love has made her slave. 

"Walking from Lienz to Silian in the Pustekthal, July 21^ 1854. 

A man and woman travelling by the way 
And thirsty both, found each a cup of liquor; 
The man, as he drank his, made a wry face 
And spat some out and said it was most bitter. 
The woman, as she drank hers, kept her eyes 
Fixed on the man, then meekly smiling said: — 
'^Bitter was my cup too, and I doubt not 
Bitterer than thine, but pleasant to me always 
Even the most bitter draught if I have only 
Thy face before mine eyes while I am drinking. 

Walking from Lienz to Silian in the Pustekthal, July 21, 1854. 


It was the morning of the Sunday first 
In Advent; when^ four hours before daylight^ 
Anna Maria Prieth, the widow, left 
House, home, and children five at Pitz and crossed 
The ice of Reschen's frozen lake to Graun, 
There made confession of her sins and eased 
By thdt sweet sacrament her burthened mind. 
'Twas not yet light when 'cross the ice returning, 
Pleased with herself and with the world at peace, 
And full of happy thoughts of home and children, 
She trod upon a spot — Ah! blessed Mary, 
Mother of God, where wast thou at that moment? — 
Above a spring the weakened ice gave way. 
And not till five months later, when May's sun 
Unbound the icy fetters of the Vintschgau, 
Was found the body; the blessed spirit meanwhile — 
A stone attests it on the banks of Reschcn, 
And every Advent the officiating 
Curate of Graun confirms it from the altar — 
Sank not into the abysm but, upward borne 
By hands angelic, soared until it joined 
The harmonic choirs that never ceasing sing- 
Glad hymns of praise around the eternal throne. 

Walking from Reschen in tlic Vintschgau (German Tyrol) to Pfuxds, 
Sept. 3, 1854. 

* The principal facts of this story are taken from an inscription on a 
stone on the banks of the lake of Reschen. 


IwAs early on an April morn 
As musing sad and all forlorn 
I walked through the scarce brairded corn, 

Ah, well aday! 
Methought I heard close by my side 
A voice that ^^Woe 's me!" three times cried, 
And saw a figure past me glide, 

Ah, well aday! 
By her white scarf and ribbons blue 
My own dear Mary's form I knew, 
My Mary of the heart so true, 

Ah, well aday! 
"And what, my Mary, hast to do 
Here in chill April's morning dew?" 
She answered not but from my view. 

Ah, well aday! 
Awdy far into thin air fled — 
Quickfoot to Mary's home I sped. 
And there lay Mary stretched out dead. 

Ah, well aday! 

Walking from Kottacii on Tegernsee to Seehaus on Achensee in the 
German Tyrol, July 9, 1854. 


It happened once that in a coffeehouse — 

How many years ago it is not certain — 

Labor and Idleness together met; 

And thus said Idleness to Labor, sighing: — 

'^Well, it 's a weary world! I can't conceive 

How any one can like it; for my part 

I wish I had died an infant or had never 

Been born at all — what think'st thou, broth'fer Labor?" 

"It may be as thou say'st or it may not. 

For aught I know," said Labor with a smile; 

"To say the truth my life has been so busy 

I Ve had small time to enquire into the subject." 

"And dost thou really mean thou dost not know 

Whether thy life 's a pleasant one or not?" 

"I do indeed, and, what will more surprise thee, 

I rarely think either of pain or pleasure 

Or of myself at all ; I 'm always aiming 

At something I Ve in hand that must be done; 

Of that and that alone I 'm always thinking." 

"And so thou slipp'st through life almost without 

Knowing thou 'rt in it — happy, happy Labor! — 

While I am always wondering why the day 's 

So v^ry long, so full of care and trouble." 

"To m^ the day is well nigh over ere 

I feel it 's well begun. I 'd wish it longer 

That I might do more work^ get further forward. 
Even for this hour here spent with thee in gossip 
I fear my sleep tonight will have to pay." 
So said and to his work away went Labor 
Cheerful and humming a song; but Idleness 
Looked dfter him some moments, wishing half 
That he too had some work to do; then listless 
Flung himself into a chair and dozed, or smoked 
And read the news until the clock struck dinner. 

Walking from Baireuth to Haag (Bavaria), June 23 — 24, 1854. 


At six years old I had before mine eyes 
A picture painted, like the rainbow, bright, 
But far, far off in th' unapproachable distance. 
With all my childish heart I longed to reach it. 
And strove and strove the livelong day in vain, 
Advancing with slow step some few short yards 
But not perceptibly the distance lessening. 
At threescore years old, when almost within 
Grasp of my outstretched arms the selfsame picture 
With all its beauteous colors painted bright, 
I 'm backward from it further borne each day 
By an invisible, compulsive force. 
Gradual but yet so steady, sure, and rapid. 
That at threescore and ten I 11 from the picture 
Be even more distant than I was at six. 

Walking from IVLn-ls to Guaun (German Tyrol), Sept. 3, 1854. 



1 well remember how some threescore years 

And ten ago, a helpless babe^ I toddled 

From chair to chair about my mother's chamber. 

Feeling, as 'twere, my way in the new world 

And foolishly afraid of, or, as 't might be. 

Foolishly pleased with, th' unknown objects round me. 

And now with stiffened joints I sit all day 

In one of those same chairs, as foolishly 

Hoping or fearing something from me hid 

Behind the thick, dark veil which I see hourly 

And minutely on every side round closing 

And from my view all objects shutting out. 

Walking from Mals to Graun (German Tyrol), Sept. 3, 1854. 



Poets have lived who never in their lives 
Composed one line of blank or rhyming verse, 
Yet left behind them no less lovely thoughts 
And no less durable than Petrarch's own, 
Tasso's, or Ariosto's; witness thou, 
Possagno, tomb and birthplace of Canova. 

Aug. 4, 1854. 

It wds a sultry Jiily day, 
Stretched on the Alpine sward I lay; 
There was no shelter, not a cloud 
The siin's downdarting rays to shroud. 

'Twas noon; no breath, no stir, no sound 
Disturbed the spacious landscape round; 
No bird, no grasshopper, no fly 
Ventured beneath the flaring sky. 

And there upon the grass I lay 
In the full sun that sultry day. 
The heat, the air, the clear, blue sky 
And my own thoughts my company. 

And so the livelong summer day 
High on the mountain's breast I lay, 
Happier than Cesar when Rome's crowd 
Shouted their vivats long and loud; 

For his thoughts were of self and Rome, 
Greatness and power and fame to come, 
Mine of the warm sun, mountain air,^ 
And nature lovely every where. 

While walking from Pbudelstein in the valley of Ampezzo , to Ampezzo, 
July 23, 1854. 



IHEY lived through every change of wind and weather 
Sixty four years, a loving pair, together; 
Then, within three days of each other , died 
Ere either missed the other from the side. 
Thrice happy, happy, pair! to the last breath 
United, and not parted even by death. 

Primiero in the Italian Tyrol, July 29, 1854. 

How happens it that no one with his lot 
Contented lives?" Horace once asked Mecenas; 
I, for Mecenas answered not, will answer, 
Meaning no harm to Horace or Mecenas: 
^^N6 one contented with his own lot lives. 
Because each one his neighbour's lot thinks better. 
And each one better thinks his neighbour's lot 
And worse his own, because each one the goods 
Sees of his neighbour's lot, feels not the pains ; 
Whilst of his own lot each one feels the pains 
And, blind as any bat, sees not the goods." 

Primiero in the Italian Tyrol, July 30, 1854. 



Ihere are two gates of Sleep, the poet says; 
Of polislied ivory one, of liorn the other; 
But I; besides these gates, to blessed Sleep 
Three other gates have found which thus I count: 
First the star-spangled arch of deep midnight, 
When labor ceases, every sound is hushed, 
And Nature, drowsy, nods upon her throne. 
Pale-visaged Spectres round this gate keep watch, 
And Fears and Horrors vain, and beyond these 
Eest, balmy Sweat, and dim Forgetfulness, 
Relieved, at dawn of day, by buoyant Hope, 
Fresh Strength and ruddy Health and calm Composure 
And daring Enterprize and Selfreliance. 

The second gate is wreathed, sideposts and lintel. 

With odorous trailing hop, and poppystalks; 

The shadowy gateway paved with poppyheads. 

And there, all day and night, keeps watch sick Fancy 

Haggard and trembling, and delirium wild, 

And impotence with drunken glistening eye. 

And Idiotcy, and, in the background, Death. 

The third gate is of lead, and there sits ever 

Humming her tedious tune Monotony, 

Tired of herself; about her on the ground 

Sermons and psalms and hymns lie numerous strewed. 


To the same import all^ and all almost 

in the same words varied in form and order 

To cheats if possible ^ the weary sense, 

And different seem, where dijfference is none. 

At th' opposite doorpost, on her knees. Routine 

Keeps turning over still the well-thu.mbed leaves 

Of the same prayerbook; reading prayers, not praying; 

Behind them waiting stand Conformity 

And Uniformity, Oneness of faith, 

Oneness of laws and customs, arts and manners, 

And, Selfdevelopment's unrelenting foe, 

Centralisation; and behind these still. 

Far in the portal's deepest gloom ensconced, 

A perfect, unimprovable Paradise 

Of mere, blank nought unchangeable for ever — 

These as / count them are the Gates of Sleep. 

Pbimiero, in the Italian Tyrol, July 30, 1854. 


oo young ! so fair ! so kind ! so true ! 
Go, Death, she is no bride for you; 
Ugly, rapacious, cruel, old. 
With heart as marble hard and cold. 
Go, seek elsewhere more fitting bride." 
But he, with arms extended wide, 
"Come!" in a voice terrific cried, 
And clasped her waist; I swooned away 
And when I woke, there Emma lay 
Stiff, stark, and cold, in nuptial white, 
Death's bride upon her bridal night. 

Walking from Primiero to Castel i>ella Bettola , on the Schenner 
(Italian Tyrol), Aiig. 1, 1854. 



Come, something for me write, Sir." 
"What, Lady, shall I write?" 
"The first thought in your head comes 
That 's beautiful and bright." 

"Nay, nay; I vow I cannot, 

I cannot one word write, 
I 'm dazzled by those eyes so, 

The beautiful and bright." 


These of my friends are sketches 

Which don't pretend to art; 
I have their perfect portraits, 

But they 're locked up in my heart. 

Kitty Fiorio. 

written under the preceding. 
I Always knew my sister * 
Was an adept in her art. 
But I never until now knew 
She hdd a hollow heart. 

Sofia Fiorio. 

San Giacomo, near Riva on the Lago di Garda, Aug. 25, 1854. 


Wet and dry and hot and c61d. 
Light and dark and yoiing and old, 
Great and small and quick and slow, 
So the world will ever go; 
86 the world hath ever gone 
Since the sun the world shone on : 
if with me thou thinkest so, 
Come and cry with me. Heigh ho! 

ViLSHOFEN in Bavaria, June 25, 1854. 


It happened in a distant clime 

Were travelling, once upon a time, 

Through every change of wind and weather, 

Jolly companions three together: 

The first was neither young nor old, 

But brown and muscular, wise and boUi ; 

The second delicate and fair. 

With soft, sweet eyes, and flaxen hair; 

The third was inoffensive, mild 

And docile as a well reared child, 

Patient of wrong and in all ill 

And hardship uncomplaining still. 

As thus thev travelled on and on, 

Through heat and cold in shade and sun, 

Each one at night in separate bed, 

The first thus to the second said: 

"1 can't iniMgine, lovely She, 

Why we might not united be, 

Right well, I doubt not, we 'd agree: 

I hate a lonely^ separate bed; 

Come, fairest, loveliest She, let 's wed, 

And ledve that dull, cold-blooded elf, 

Hardhearted It to mind itself; 

Three never were good company; 

What think'st thou, my own darling She?" 

"I 'm quite of your mind," She replied, 

"And will stay ever by your side 

Through good and bad, through death and life, 

Your dutiful and loving wife." 

So said so done; the two are wed; 

And as they lay that night in bed 

'Twas thus deriding It they said: — 

"It will have all the ghosts tonight; 

Pray God it may survive till light." 

The morning came and It, before 

Well risen the sun, tapped at their door: — 

"Make hdste, make haste; it 's rising time; 

Already we have lost the prime." 

"We come, we come immediately;" 

Upstarting quick thus answered She; 

But He: — "I '11 not a foot go," cried 

And turned him on the other side. 

"You will, my dear." "My dear, I wont." 

"You will indeed." "What if I don't?" 

"And will you, can you, say me nay 

Ere yet well fled my bridal day?" 

"I c4n and will; you must obey." 

"Not f indeed." "You shall, I say; 

Come back to bed." "No, dear, I wont." 

"You will and must." "What if I don't?" 

'^ Don't talk so loud; that It has ears/' 

^^I don't care if the whole world hears." 

As thus they argued, to the door 

It with a tap came as before : — 

"Not ready yet?" "No!" with a shout 

At once both disputants cried out. 

"Then good bye; if I longer wait, 

F6r a cool walk I '11 be too late." 

"Good bye! good bye! we '11 follow straight." 

And so at last away It went, 

Happy and with itself content, 

And where it liked best the day spent. 

What though it lay alone all night, 

It sMpt till noon or rose at light 

Just as it pleased; let it set out. 

Stop short to rest, or turn about. 

No one was there to make a rout. 

And answer "Come, Love" with "I wont," 

And "Must Love," with "What if I don't?" 

In vain with oft reverted eye 

Strove It its comrades to descry: — 

"Though not in sight they '11 come anon" — 

Yes, It; but wait not them upon; 

The first point settled, their debate 

Turns on the next; good It, don't wait: 

Enjoy the precious liberty 

Already mourned by He and She. 

Walking from Silian in the Pusterthal to Laxdro in the valley of 
Ampezzo , July 22, 1854. 

10 2* 


GooDHEARTED; kind and generous ^ to a fault, 
In 411 his dealings scrupulously just, 
He were the model of a perfect man 
Had he his senses; but this constant laughing, 
Nothing but laughing, — morning noon and night — 
Is evidence, alas! but too convincing, 
Our good Democritus is gone stark mad. 
Let 's send to Athens for Hippocrates; 
Perhaps the wise physician knows some herb 
Potent to chase thought's fever and bring back 
Composure to the agitated brain." 
Come to Abdera and his finger laid 
Upon his patient's pulse Hippocrates, 
Nothing wrong finding, asks Democritus: — 
"At what so merry?" But Democritus, 
Instead of answering, only laughed the more: — 
<^At what so merry, good Democritus?" 
But still Democritus only laughed the more; 
Until at last, after a long, long fit, 
Tired thus he said to the amazed physician: — 
"Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates, 
Unless you 'd have me die downright with laughing." 
"How or at what?" "Why at the learned Doctor 
Who, sent to cure me, makes me ten times worse. 
Before you came I used to amuse myself 
With laughing at the silly jieople here 

Who thought me mad because a little wiser^ 

A very little wiser, than themselves; 

And now my laughing 's doubled at the sage 

Athenian Doctor who would cure my madness. 

Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates, 

Or stay and cure the people of Abdera, 

And leave me to myself to laugh at both 

Doctor and patients." So Hippocrates 

Went back to Athens, saying he had found 

In all Abdera only one man sane 

And that one sane man was Democritus. 

The story 's no less true told of the poet 
Who with his pen in hand keeps laughing, laughing, 
Still laughing at the follies he sees round him, 
With this one only difference, that the poet 
Finds seldom an Hippocrates to judge him. 

Near Montebello , while walking from Vicenza to Verona . Aug. 
15 — 16, 1854. 

1 can put up with people of all sorts, if only they have money, 
I can find beauty in all kinds of eyes, if only they are funny, 
I can live anywhere in town or country where it 's only sunny, 
I can eat fish of any kind, fresh, salt or pickled, except tunny. 
But curse me, if I can without a massy crystal spoon eat honey. 

KussNACHT , on the Vierwaldstatter See . Sept. 20 . 1 S54. 



If happy you would be tomorrow 

Toddy must be a day of sorrow^ 

For Fortune 's never tired of ranging 

And Liick of dll things loves place -changing: 

Today good luck^ tomorrow bad; 

Sorry today^ tomorrow glad; 

Take lip; put down; now none, now all; 

So spins teetotum^ twirls the ball; 

Lucky, we bless kind Providence, 

Unlucky, with no jot more sense 

Upbraid the Author of all ill, 

For man must be religious still, 

And have his Oberon and his Puck, 

Th4t for his g6od, this for his ill luck. 

Taukrnhaus, Fehrleiten, at the foot of the Gross- Glocknbr, July 16, 1854. 


The first draught of cold water when you 're thirsty 
Is not delicious only but divine. 
Balsam and nectar or whatever more 
The grateful heart can say or think of praise ; 
The second draught falls short of the delicious, 
Though not unpleasant, though even pleasant still ; 
The third palls on the taste and you turn from it 
Averse, and will no more, not even one drop; 
Forced to the fourth you swallow with displeasure, 


Loathing and pain the odious beverage, 
Which, forced upon you still, becomes at last 
Your direst enemy, your deadliest poison, 
The water all the while being the same, 
And the last draught refreshing as the first, 
Hadst thou thyself not in the meantime changed. 

Go to ! go to ! ye that an absolute good 
Or absolute bad find in the outward world 
And look not in yourselves for that which makes 
The indifferent, outward object good or bad. 

Alpnach in the valley of Sarnen, Sept. 23, 1854. 


A cat that in a barn the day 

Had mousing spent among the hay 

Without success, and thought her fast 

Was likely now till morn to last, 

Spied, with her eyes half closed to sleep, 

Out of a hole a fat rat creep 

And joyful cried, with claw and fang 

As on th' unhoped-for prey she sprang: — 

^^Who could believe with common sense 

There 's no such thing as Providence? 

What but a special Providence sent 

This fat rat for my nourishment?" 

'^Ah," squeaked the rat loud, ^*it 's a good 

Providence gives rats to cats for food!" 

LiCHTENSTKiN in Saxony , June 19, 1S54. 



IHERE 's nothing like experience" — 1 heard once 
An old fly to a young one say, as both 
About my study buzzed in the golden sunbeams : — 
"Only experience teaches what to follow 
And what to shun; only experience guides 
In safety through th' intricacies of life. 
But for experience I had months ago 
The prey been of that fell and cunning spider; 
But for experience' salutary counsel 
I 'd limed perhaps both foot and wing ere now 
In yon pestiferous dish of viscid fly-trap. 
List ever to experience, child, and thank God 
That he 's vouchsafed us the unerring guide — 
But aren't you lonely in this wide room here? 
Come and let 's pay a visit to the blackbird 
That sings so sweetly in the cage in the window." 
"Let 's go by all means if it 's only safe," 
Replied the young fly; "what says your experience?" 
"Nothing on this point; I have never yet been 
Inside a blackbird's cage; it 's plain it 's pleasant, 
We '11 never younger learn whether it 's safe; 
Experience can be got only by trying." 
So said, and through the bars direct they flew, 
With civil buzz of greeting, to the blackbird 
Who in the midst of his song made so long pause 
As was required to snap at and down swallow 
First one and then the other of th' intruders. 
Then, taking up his song again, praised God 
That only after the evil comes experience. 

While travelling with the Postboy from Nkustadt to Uktssknfeld 
( E A V AKi A ) , . J uly 3 , 1 S 5 4 . 



Pshaw!" said a wisc^ grave moth that; as it flitted 
About mj candle that same evenings heard me 
Telling a friend the story thou 'st just read, 
^^They were a pair of fools or worse, those flies; 
Instinct 's the only guide, the sure safe rule 
Supplied to every creature by its kind 
And provident creator; never let me, 
While I have life, forsake or disobey thee, 
Unerring counsellor, monitor and friend; 
And whither flrst?" ^'Direct into the light 
That spreads such bright warm radiance all around." 
^^I 'm but too happy" said the moth and into 
The flame flew straight and, in tlie wick entangled, 
Was burned into a cinder on the instant. 

S^ATTEL, Canton Schwyz, Sept. 19, 1854. 

It happened as a fox and wolf together 

Were travelling by the way and both were hungry. 

They saw a man approaching, and to the wolf 

Thus said the fox: — ^^Here comes one of those ugly 

Vicious, malignant creatures who for pastime 

Hunt wolves and foxes, and assert that God 

Made this fair world and all that it contains 

For their sole use and interest and profit. 

Come, let us shew that God has some care too 

For wolves and foxes; not that flesh of man 


To me 's particularly sweet or dainty. 

And were I not by hunger pressed I 'd li()ld it 

Almost beneath me to defile my blood 

With even the least admixture of the blood 

6f the foul, lying, hypocritical monster; 

But hunger has no law; so fall thou on him 

And tear him to the ground, whilst I keep wateh 

Lest knj of his felloAvs come to his aid." 

"The counsel 's excellent," replied the wolf, 

"And I 'm quite ready to perform my part; 

The more as, unlike you, I find the fiesh 

Of that sleek, pampered animal a bonne bouche, 

And hold it for mere cowardice in our kind 

That they prefer to prey on harmless lambs 

And leave their direst and most cruel foe 

To riot as he will, untouched, unpunished." 

He said, and on the man sprang with a howl. 

And tore him down, then called the fox to supper; 

And thus both, mocking, said as in his vitals 

They fleshed their tusks : — "Where 's now the Providence 

That made us and all creatures for thy use?" 

Primiero, in the Italian Tyrol, July 31, 1854. 


If thou would'st lead a quiet life 
Respect my corns, my creed, my wife — 
Three tender points — and I '11 agree 
The same points to respect in thee. 

Etzelberg, in the Canton Schwyz , in Switzerland, Sept. 18, 1854. 


[T 1 ask, Sir^ where you 're always 
Posting to in such a hurry?" 
Said a snail once to an earwig 
Wriggling past him on the roMside. 

^^I cannot conceive the business 
So perpetually urgent, 
Still less think it is for pleasure 
You keep driving on at that rate." 

"Tell me first/' replied the earwig, 
"Why you 're never in a hurry^ 
Why you always seem as if you 
Hkd a whole life for each journey. 

"I for my part cdn't conceive what 
Pleasure you can take in that pace. 
Still less that it forwards business, 
Or is wholesome or becoming. " 

"But ye are a pair of ninnies 
To dispute where there 's no difference!" 
Said a milestone that stood hard by 
On the roadside and their talk heard; 

"Fast and slow are both alike bad, 
Tiresome, useless, unbecoming; 
If you would be graceful, healthy, 
And of use, stand still as I do." 

Walking from GucKELSBERa to Chemnitz (Saxony), Jmio l'^. lS5i. 


Sir Will once on a time, being in need, 

Called loud to Thought : — ^^ Good Thought, I pray come hither." 

When Thought nor came nor answered, Will repeated 

Louder the call: — ^^Good Thought, I say come hither." 

When Thouglit, as marble statue stiff and dumb, 

No word replied, showed never a sign of hearing, 

Will thus in soothing tone began to coax him: — 

"Nay, nay, good Thought, you surely wont be pettish. 

Or for an idle humor lose a friend; 

Come, come, I say." Still Thought nor stirred nor answered: — 

"Then as I see fair words are of no use 

Come, I command you; come this instant, slave." 

As Thought immovable sat and either heard not. 

Or made as if he heard not, Will's commands, 

Will, growing angry, rose and went away 

And at the court of Reason lodged complaint 

Against his servant Thought for disobedience. 

Thought took defence and thus in open court 

His own case pleaded: — "I am not Will's servant, 

And never was; if Will says otherwise. 

Let him produce his witnesses to prove it." 

So Will called witness Popular Misconception, 

Who swore in plain, round terms that Thought was then. 

And from all time had been, Will's bounden servant. 

But the Judge frowning said: — "The evidence 

Is bad in law, being but of opinion; 

Remove the witness if she cannot prove 


Either a contract or some act of service." 

So Popular Misconception being removed 

And Will to tlie question ^ had he other witness 

Whereon to rest his casC; replying: — '^No/' 

The Judge declared the plaintiff was nonsuited, 

And, bowing on all sides, dissolved the court. 

That night in bed thus said Thought to himself: — 

'^Well; it 's a wicked world! my old bondslave, 

To whom from immemorial time I 've been 

So kind, so loving, so indulgent master, 

Sets himself up not for a freeman only 

But to be master of his rightful lord. 

Let me but see tomorrow's light I '11 try 

If still some further justice may be found 

In that same court which judged today so soundly." 

So 'twas not long before Chief-justice Reason 

Again in court sat the cross case to try : 

Thought versus Will; and thus swore Thought's first witness, 

A learned Doctor grave, liight Metaphysics, 

With small, bright eyes, white beard, and furrowed cheeks: — 

"Well known to me from earliest youth, my lord. 

Both plaintiff and defendant in this action, 

And scarcely has a day passed of my life 

In which I 've not had opportunity 

To see them in their mutual relation 

Of slave and master dealing with each other, 

Will, menial slave, obeying master Thought, 

And Thought commanding most obedient Will. 

A thousand times I 've heard Thought say to Will: — 

"Come," and he came; ''Go," and forthwith he went; 

'/Do," and he did it; "Cease," and he loft off; 

And never have I seen so much as once 

Will act except at the command of Thought; 

And so well used am I to see Will aotiui:- 

Always in t:oiiseqiKnice of Tliouglity command 

That I doubt not Will's recent suit was brought" — 

^'Stop there/' said the Chief-justice; ^^ until now 

Your evidence has been direct and valid, 

But in a court of justice the opinion 

Even of wise Metaphysics has no weight. 

Go down." "My Lord/' then thus said the defendant: 

"This Metaphysics is my ancient foe, 

His evidence the outpourings of a malice 

Which never ceases to abuse all ears 

With stories of my slavery and dependance. 

This honorable court, I hope, my lord. 

Will not lend ear to the calumniator." 

But here the auditory with one voice 

Begdn to cry: — "Will never was a servant. 

And never shall be; Metaphysics lies; 

Punish the perjurer and let Will go free;" 

And when the Judge would not, but with loud voice 

Commanded Will to be bound hand and foot 

And to his rightful lord delivered over. 

Arose such uproar that the Judge his safety 

Sought in precipitous flight through a postern door; 

Whereon the mob with fury fell on Thought 

And Metaphysics; trod them under foot, 

And for dead left them; then upon a chair 

Uplifted on their shoulders Will, and bore him 

With shouts of triumph round and round the city. 

Walking from Azolo to Mestrk near Venice, Aug. 5 — (5, 1854. 



Prince Paskewitsch to Turkey went 
His rdge upon the rogues to vent 
Who vowed they never would consent 
Czar Nick should have the management 

Of their Greek church ; 
But just as he arrived before 
Silistria's barricaded door, 
Never let schoolboy such a roar 
Out of his mouth; at the first sore 

Skelp of the birch, 
As Paskewitsch, when trundling slow 
A cannon ball so bruised his toe 
That stooping down he cried "Oh! oh!" 
And right about faced, home to go, 

And in the lurch 
Left lying there his haversack 
And boot pulled off without a jack 
And train- oil -drinking Don Cosaque, 
And on Silistria turned his back 

And the Greek church. 

Walking from Schonau to Lichtenstein (Saxony), June 19, 1854. 

Restless as billows of the sea 

And agile be thy feet. 
Firm as a rock thy purpose be. 

Nor from the right retreat. 

Walking from Akco to Tenno in the Italian Tyrol, Aiig. 24, 1S54. 



Mih^ER tell me there 's no such tiling as friends. 
Steady^ true^ constant, without selfish ends ; 
Of my long life 't has been the happiness 
To have had some five and twenty, more or less. 

Aye, to be sure; friends of the summer day, 
That at the approach of winter fled away. 

No ; sterling friends that ever ready were 
The worst inclemencies for me to bear 
Of wintry weather, hail and rain and snow. 
No less than sultry summer's burning glow. 
Alas ! those valued friends are dead and gone, 
Dropped off one after another all but one 
Newest and last but not least stout and true — 
Thou 'st never seen a better parapluie. 

Walking from Haag to Hainbach near Amberg (Bavaria), June 25, 1854. 


Sometimes it 's slow, sometimes it 's quick, 
But still the clock goes tick tick tick; 
And tick tick tick from morn to night 
Goes still the heart, be it sad or light; 
But sad or light and slow or quick. 
Both soon shall cease their tick tick tick. 

Taukrniiatt.s, FKiuiT.KiTKN, fit tlie f'oot ol" the GRosb- CiiOCKNKR, July 1."). 

I, BEING a boy, used thus to count my fingers: 

Stand lip, right thumb here; thou art Geoffrey Chaucer, 

Grave, reverend father of old English song. 

The clear, the strong, the dignified, the plain; 

I love thee well, thy prologues and thy tales. 

Never for me too long, nor long enough; 

Thoii art my dictionary, primer, grammar; 

From thee I Ve learned, if I have learned, my tongue. 

Not from the modern winnowers perverse 

Who save the chaff and cast away the grain. 

Yet, Chaucer, though I honor and admire 

And dearly love thee, there are in my breast 

Some deep emotions which thou touchest never: 

Kind, gentle, tearful pity, dire revenge. 

Stern, unrelenting hatred, and sweet love; 

Awe reverential too of influences 

Unearthly, unsubstantial, superhuman. 

And almost adoration of the face 

Sublime of wild, uncultivated nature — 

Chaucer, thou touchest none of these; go down. 

Stand lip, forefinger; thou 'rt the arch - enchanter, 
Sweet, fanciful, delicious, playful Shakespeare, 
With his hobgoblins, fairies, Bottom, Puck, 
His robbers and his cut -throats and his witches, 
And bold Sir John and all his men in buckram, 

33 3 

And gentle Juliet and impassioned Romeo, 

And bloody Richard wooing lady Ann 

Or studying prayers between two reverend bishops. 

But charming though thou art and captivating, 

And loved within the cockles of my heart, 

I 've yet a crow to pluck with thee, my Shakespeare; 

For when thou shouldst be noble thou 'rt oft mean, 

And full of prattle when thou shouldst be brief. 

And, like a miser doating grown and blind, 

Stuffest into thy bags of gems and gold, 

Not the pure metals only but false coins 

And vile alloys groped out of mire and dirt. 

Which even the scavenger had disdained to touch — 

I 'm sorry, Shakespeare, but thou must go down. 

Stand lip, strong middle finger; thou 'rt John Milton, 

Monarch of England's poets , prince of verse ; 

I love thy deep, harmonious, flowing numbers, 

Thy sense, thy learning, gravity and knowledge, 

Thy rational Adam, and sweet, hapless Eve; 

But I like not thy bitter polemics, 

Thy small philosophy and mean religion. 

Nor that inflexible, obdurate temper 

Thou borrowedst from the temper of the times ; 

No venial faults are these, so get thee down. 

Stand up, ring finger; thou 'rt accomplished Pope, 
Melodious minstrel of the rounded rhyme, 
Philosopher and satirist and wit. 
Acute, dogmatic, antithetic, bright, 
The poet of the reason not the heart, 
A pedagogue who lashes and instructs, 
A rhetorician less loved than admired, 
Who, when we ask him for a tender tale. 

Redds us a syllogism ^ a dry prelection; 
Yet for his brilliant wit's sake and his keen 
Well merited scourgings of that vicious age, 
And for the noble height at which he stood 
Above religion's vile hypocrisy 
I could forgive his frailties and forget. 
Had he but with more conscientious hand, 
More skilled, more diligent, less imaginative, 
Painted his English portrait of great Homer — 
Thou must go down, Pope, I love others better. 

Stand lip, weak little - finger ; thou art Goldsmith, 

Simple and tenderhearted to a fault. 

The butt of witlings, even of his best friends, 

Johnson and Burke and Reynolds, coarser natures 

But little capable of understanding, 

Or duly valuing had they understood, 

The poet's almost childish inexpertness 

In life's conventionalities, masquerade, 

And subtle thimble -rig and hocus-pocus. 

Yet his sweet Auburn, Traveller, Venison -Haunch, 

Good^ simple Vicar and queer Tony Lumpkin 

Shall fill their separate niches in Fame's temple 

When few shall ask what was 't churl Johnson wrote, 

Burke talked about, or cold Sir Joshua painted. 

Still all too soft thy gentle genius, Goldsmith, 

And more the wax resembling which receives, 

Than the hard stone which stamps, the strong impression; 

I love thee well, but yet thou must go down. 

Stand up, left thumb here; thou art mighty Homer, 
Bright morning sun of poesie heroic, 
Whose beams far -darting west are with redoubled 
Splendor and beauty from the disks reflected 

3 5 o * 

6f the great Mantuan and British planets. 

I know not; Homer; whence thou in thy turn 

Thy light hadst; whether from some farther sun 

Whose rays direct have never reached our eyes. 

Or from a fount in thine own self inherent; 

But this I know at least: those sceptics err 

Who see indeed and recognise the light 

But have no faith there ever was a Homer. 

Well! let it bC; so long as they cannot 

Rob us same time of th' Odyssey and Iliad; 

Themselves; their species ; of the noblest work 

That issued ever from the hands of man; 

Not perfect; some have said — alas! what 's perfect. 

What can be perfect in imperfect eyeS; 

That must; were 't but for change; have imperfection? 

So; blamed or blameless ; get thee down, great Homer. 

Stand up; forefinger; nightingale of Andes, . 

That in the dewy evening's pleasant cool 

Sangst out of humble hazelbush sweet ditties 

Of Corydon and Thyrsis; and how best 

To twine the pollard with the vine's soft arms ; 

Then bolder grown pour'dst from the highest top 

Of birch or holm-oak thy sonorous song 

Of wars and battles ; Gods and GoddesseS; 

And Rome's foundation by the second JasoU; 

Adventurous like the first; and; like the first. 

Perfidious; calculating, cold seducer; 

Whom with more complaisance than truth thou styl'st 

The tenderhearted — I blush for theC; Virgil; 

Hadst thou no other fault, thou must go down. 

Stand up, strong middle finger; thou 'rt Venusium's 
World-famous lyrist, moralist, and critic, 


My heart's delight, judicious, pithy Horace, 

Who, frugal in his plenty, never wastes 

A word not by the sense required, and, liberal 

Even in the midst of his frugality, 

Flings free the useful, necessary word. 

Yet, Horace, thou 'rt for me something too much 

The courtier; for a prince's smiles and favors 

Too readily sold'st a poet's independance. 

I can forgive the purchase by the great 

Of ease and honors, dignities and fame. 

Of the vile populace' vivats and hurrahs, 

Of the priest's unction and the lawyer's parchment. 

Even of Hygea's ministers' leave to live 

A life of sin and luxury and riot, 

But I cannot forgive the poet's sale 

Of his fine soul to the demon Patronage — 

Too, too obsequious Horace, thou must down. 

Stand lip, ring finger; thou 'rt the Florentine, 

The hapless, exiled, ever persecuted 

But still undaunted Dante, who in the dim 

Dark middle age the first was to hold high 

The beacon torch of rational enquiry 

And boldly speak the truth he boldly thought; 

Wert thou less stern, less terrible, less just. 

Less Eschylean, hadst thou less of Moses, 

Less of that jealous and vindictive God 

Who punishes children for their fathers' sins 

Even to the generation third and fourth, 

And hadst thou taken Maro for thy real, 

Not merely for thy nominal, leader through 

Death's awful, unexplored, Trans - Stygian land. 

And hadst thou oftcner slaked thy knowledge - thirst 

At the clear, welling fountain of Lucretius, 

And not kept drawing still unwholesome draughts 
Out of Saint Basil's, Hilary's, Chrysostom's 
And Athanasius' duckmeat - mantled pools, 
I doiibt if in my heart I could have found it 
To sdy, as now I say: Dante, go down. 

Stand up here, little finger; thou 'rt the pensive, 

Delicate, gentle, nobleminded Schiller, 

Tender white -rose frostnipped in Weimar's garden 

Ere it had raised its modest head above 

Luxuriant Goethe's all too neighbouring shade. 

Redundancy of words , enthusiasm, 

Subjectiveness (youth's faults) are thy faults, Schiller! 

Amiable weaknesses which every day 

Of longer life had sobered, curtailed, cured — 

Diis aliter visum; so thou must go down. 

So, being a boy, I used to count my fingers, 
And so in manhood sometimes count them still 
In the late gloaming or the early morn 
Or when I sleepless lie at deep midnight. 

Walking from Sanct Anton on the Adlerberg (German Tyrol) to Teufen 
in Canton Appenzell, Sept. 6 — 10, 1854. 

Why 's a priest like a fingerpost, you dunce?" 
Said a schoolmaster to his pupil once ; 
"I think I know," replied the roguish elf; 
'^Hc points the way, but never goes himself." 

Walking from Unterbruck to Kreutzstkassen near Munich, July 4, 1854. 


There w^s a curious creature 

Lived many years ago ; 
Don't ask me what its name was^ 

For I myself don't know; 

But 'twas a curious creature, 

So delicately made 
It could not bear the sunshine^ 

It scdrce could bear the shade. 

Its judgment was defective, 

Its memory was weak, 
Until it was two years old 

Not one word could it speak. 

Capricious in its temper, 

And grave by fits, then gay, 

It seldom liked tomorrow 
The thing it liked today. 

When 't met a little trouble 

'Twould heave a doleful sigh, 

Clasp its forepaws together 
And loudly sob and cry; 

And then when something pleased it 

'Twould fall into a fit 
And work in such convulsions 

You 'd think its sides would split 


With little taste for lAbor, 
And wedry soon of rest, 

It seemed always in a puzzle 
Which of the two was best. 

So ^ffcer a while's labor 

It would sit down and say: — 
''This labor is a killing thing, 

I '11 work no more today." 

Then after a while's sitting 

'Twould fold its arms and cry: 

"Donothing 's such a weariness 
I 'd dlmost rather die." 

As fox or magpie clever, 
And full of guile and art, 

Its chiefest study ever 

Was how to hide its heart; 

And seldom through its features 
Could you its thoughts discern. 

Or what its feelings towards you 
From words or manner learn. 

Fierce, unrelenting, cruel. 
Bloodshed was its delight; 

To give pain, its chief pleasure 
From morning until night; 

All kinds of beasts, birds, fishes, 
'Twould fall upon and kill. 

And n6t even its own like spare. 
Its hungry maw to fill ; 


And when it could no more eat 
But was stuffed up to the throat, 

'Twould hunt them down for pastime, 
And on their anguish gloat. 

Of imitative manners, 

And a baboon in shape. 
Some naturalists will have it. 

It was a kind of ape; 

But i would not believe it 

Though deposed to upon oath — 
Such calumnies to credit 

Wise men were ever loath; 

And all the ancient records 

Unanimous declare 
It was God's own legitimate 

Likeness and son and heir, 

That for some seventy years should 

Live wickedly, then die 
And turn into an angel 

And fly up to the sky; 

And there in the blue ether 
With God for ever dwell, 

Oft wondering how it came there 
When 't should have been in hell. 

Begun at Arco in the Italian Tyrol, Aug. 24, 1S54; finished while 
walking from Campiglio across the Val di Non and over the Pallade to 
Spondini at the foot of the Ortjsler, Aug. 29 to Sept. 2, 1854. 



It happened as one summer day I walked 

From Kiissnaclit round the Righi's foot to Schwjz, 

And had behind me left TelFs Hollow Way 

And the green ^ sloping banks of Zug's clear lake, 

That looking up I saw a gap in the clouds 

And asking what had made it, was informed 

'Twas left there by the fall of Rossberg mountain 

Whose ruins strewed the valley at my feet. 

Doubting, as usual, and incredulous, 

Again I looked up, at and through the gap, 

And saw beyond it in the clear, blue ether 

The figure of a man with open shirtneck, 

Seated and writing something upon papers 

Which ever and anon down through the gap 

He scattered to the ground. One near me fallen 

I picked up, curious, and began to read; 

But being no lover of non sequiturs 

And Beggings of the Argument and mean 

And vulgar thoughts dressed up in melodrame, 

* Mountains have fallen 
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up 
The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters, 
Damming the rivers with a sudden dash 
"Which crushed the waters into mist, and made 
Their fountains find another channel — thus, 
Thus , in its old age , did Mount Rosenberg. 


4 2 

And n(5t being over patient of bad English, 
And holding still that sdpere is the basis 
Of all good writing whether prose or verse, 
I soon grew weary and threw down the paper, 
And on my wdy to Schwyz sped and no more 
Thought of the gap in the clouds or of the writer. 

Walking from Kussnacht to Lucerne, Sept. 21, 1854. 

"I '11 take mine ease in mine inn." 

In mine inn I '11 take mine ease, 
in mine inn do what I please; 
In mine inn my pipe I 11 smoke, 
Read the news and crack my joke. 
Eat my pudding, drink my wine, 
Go to bed when I incline, 
And if I the barmaid kiss 
Who 's to sdy I did amiss? 

When to visit you I go 

Knock knock knock! door 's answered sI6w: 

'^Master Mistress not at home; 

Don't know when back they will come; 

Cdll again at six, seven, eight; 

Almost sure they '11 stay out late." 

When to visit me you come 
And by chance find me at home 
f must sit and wait on you 
Maybe a good hour or two; 
Let my business press or not 
There I am, nailed to the spot, 


And my wife and children too^ 
Paying c6mpliments to yoii. 

To my inn door when I come 
I enquire not who 's at home, 
Walk in straight, hang up my hat, 
Order this and order that, 
Right before the fire sit down. 
Call the waiter loiit and lown 
If I must five minutes wait 
Ere the chop smokes on my plate. 

Him that first invented inns 
God forgive him all his sins ; 
When he comes to Paradise gate. 
Early let it be or late, 
Good Saint Peter, open straight; 
'Twere a shame to make him wait 
Whose house door stood open still; 
I '11 go bail he '11 pay his bill. 

In mine inn I '11 take mine ease, 
In mine inn do what I please. 
In mine inn 1 '11 have my fling, 
Laugh and dance and play and sing 
Till the jugs and glasses ring, 
And not envy queen or king. 

Walking from Rankacii over the Freiersberg to Oppenau in the Black 
FoBEST (Baden), Octob. 11, 1854. 


A DOUBLE folly how to cook 

If you desire to know, 
You '11 find it in a cookery book 

That some score years ago 

Was printed for the use of cooks 

Who well had learned to read; 
I 've tried it often, and still found 

The recipe succeed. 

You '11 take the first young man you meet 
That 's handsome and well made, 

And dress him in a bran-new suit 
Of clothes of any shade ; 

But blue and drab, or brown and white, 

Is said to be the best; 
His gloves must be of yellow kid, 

Of patterned silk his vest. 

His gl6ssy, lacquered boots, too small 

To hold with ease his toes. 
Should gldnce and sparkle in the sun 

At every step he goes. 

Both cheeks should be scraped close and clean, 

But I advise you spare 
Just in the middle of his chin 

One little tuft of hair; 


And leave upon his upper lip 

Enough to take a twirl — 
In all as much hair as may show 

He 's not all out a girl. 

And then you '11 teach him airs genteel, 

And words cf import small 
About religion, politics, 

And the last fancy-ball. 

When your young man is thus prepared, 

Look round until you find 
A mate for him as suitable 

In person as in mind. 

Simple and dignified must be 

Her boarding -school -taught mien. 

And for the last five years her age 
Something about eighteen. 

She must have learned a mincing gait. 
And not to swing her arms; 

And can she sit bolt upright straight 
'Twill double all her charms. 

ignorance of things she knows right well 
Her looks must always show, 

And things she 's wholly ignorant of 
She must pretend to know. 

Never must she behind her look 
While walking in the street; 

Her eyes and those of a young man 
Must never, never meet. 

-1 d 

Biit she may peep behind the blinds 
When in the room 's no one, 

And watch what in the opposite house 
Or street is going on. 

She must have learned neat angle hand 

And how to fold a note; 
Bulwer and Byron understand, 

And on dear children doat. 

But above all things she must love 
The only, one, true church, 

And heresy and unbelief 

Hate, as bold boys the birch. 

They 're ready now, the youth and maid. 
And need but to be brought — 

Mind well! — by accident together 
And without all forethought. 

Two rainstreams on the window pane 

You 've seen together run, 
Two pools of milk upon a tray 

You Ve seen blend into one. 

So youth and maid bring them but near 

Are sure to coalesce; 
Certain the fact, although the cause 

May harder be to guess: 

Grammarians hold it for the accord 

Of similar tense and case, 
Attraction, it 's by chemists called, 

Of Acid for a base. 

Musicians call it the concord 
Of (Sctaves lower and higher, 

Philosophers the sympathy 
Of puppets on one wire. 

Geologists find even hard stone 

Given to conglomerate, 
And not a botanist but knows 

Each plant turns toward a mate; 

All may be right or all be wrong 

For anything I know, 
Beyond the simple matter of fact 
It 's not for me to go. 

They 've seen each other at a friend's; 

Well done! you Ve now to choose 
A place convenient to them both 

For frequent rendezvous. 

The mall 's too public, and almost 

As public evening Tea; 
'Twere a real pity your good work 

Should spoiled by tattling be; 

But in a Propaganda school 

As often as they please 
They '11 come together, youth and maid, 
In safety and at ease. 

Here while he teaches little boys 

She girls their catechism. 
From him to her from her to him 

Streams fast the magnetism. 


Your work is done; your youth and maid 

No ni6re need of your care; 
Left to kind heaven and to themselves 

They are a wedded pair. 

A double folly so they cooked 

Some twenty years ago^ 
But why so called the excellent dish 

Ask not, for I don't know; 

But this I know, the recipe 

Succeeds even in these days, 
And merits of all culinary 

Connoisseurs the praise. 

Walking across the mountains from Cortina in Val Ampezzo to Predazzo 
in Val Fieme , July 24 — 26, 1854. 

Said vinegar- cruet to Mustard-pot once: — 
"I wish you knew how to behave; 

What pleasure can any one take in the feast, 
While you keep still looking so grave?" 

^'Excuse me, dear Vinegar- cruet,'' replied 

Mustard-pot, "^^I 've been thinking this hour 

How happy we d all be and merry the feast 
Were you but a little less sour." 

Oppenau, in the Black Forest (Baden), Octob. 12, 1854. 

JEN broad steps there 's to my ladder. 
Five on one side^ five on th' other; 
On one side I mount my ladder, 
And come down it on the other. 

On the first step sits a mother 
Kocking with her foot a cradle; 
Listen and you '11 hear her singing 
^^Hush-a baby, baby hiish-a." 

On the second my heart trembles 
To see seated a schoolmaster 
Slapping learning with a long cane 
into a refracfry pupil. 

On the third step Alma Mater, 
Standing in the midst of doctors, 
Puts a red gown on the shoulders 
Of a young man learned and modest. 

On the fourth step the same young man 
Puts a gold ring on the finger 
Of an — angel is 't or goddess? 
Kneeling by him at the altar. 

On the top step sits a father 
In the evening by the fireside. 
Children round his knees are playing. 
Mother 's washing up the tea-things. 


On the first step d6wn my Udder 
Sit a gentlemdn and Iddy, 
Both with spectacles, and reading 
He the news, she Mrs. Tr611ope. 

On the second step down, a hidy 
And a gentleman sit trying 
At the mirror, he a brown scratch, 
She a ghastly row of white teeth. 

On the third step down, a wrinkled 
Withered granny knitting socks sits, 
And a palsied old man shakes out 
His pipe's ashes on the table. 

On the fourth step down, two armchairs, 
One each side the fire, stand empty; 
On two tables 4t two bedsides 
Labelled phials strewed about lie. 

On the last step down, two sextons 
Side by side two graves are sodding; 
Listen and you '11 hear them cLapping 
The soft hillocks with their shovels. 

Ye that haven't yet seen my ladder, 
Come look at it where it stands there 
With its five up steps in sunlight, 
And its five steps down, in shadow. 

Walking from Falkau to Tryberg in the Black Forest (Baden), Octob. 
i — 9, 1854. 

5 1 4* 



GambrInus was a gallant king- 
Reigned once in Flanders old, 

He was the man invented beer 
As i Ve been often told. 

Of mdlt and bops be brewed bis beer 
And mdde it strong and good, 

And s6me of it be bottled up 
And some be kept in wood. 

The golden crown upon bis head, 

The be^rjug in bis band, 
Beerdrinkers, see before ye here 

Your benefactor stand. 

Beerlovers, paint him on your shields, 
Upon your beerpots paint — 

'Twere well a pope did never worse 
Than mdke Gambrinus Saint. 

And now fill every man his pot 

Till the foam overflows; 
No higher praise 4sks the good old king 

Than fr(5tb upon the nose. 


BAcchus I '11 honor while I live 

And while I live love wine^ 
But still I '11 hold th' old Flanders king 

And beerjug more divine. 

While I have wine night's darkest shades 

To me are full moonlight^ 
But ke^p my beerpot filled all day 

And t '11 sleep sound all night. 

So blessings on th' old Flanders king, 

And blessings on his beer, 
And curse upon the tax on malt, 

That makes good drink so dear. 

p Walking from Schopfheim to (tersbach in the Black Forest (Badkn), 

Octob. 6, 1854. 

Once it happened f was walking 
On a bright sunshiny morning 
Through the cornfields, gay and happy, 
Lilting to myself some nonsense; 

All at once came a policeman, 
Caught me fast by the shirt collar, 
Dragged me to the village Sessions, 
And before their Worships set me: — 

5 3 

"Here 's the fellow stole the dpple, 
Please your grdve and reverend Worships; 
Now he 's in your hands do with him 
As required by Idw and justice." 

"No, I did not ; it 's a foul lie; 
I 'm no thief; stole never dpple; 
Let me go, and the false witness 
Punish as your Worships think best." 

"Not so fdst; it has been sworn to: 
Your grandmother stole the apple; 
That 's the same in law and justice 
As if you yourself had stolen it. 

"So you 're sentenced to go always 
With your coatsleeves inside out turned, 
Thdt all seeing you may know 'twas 
Your grandmother stole the apple." 

That 's the reason. Gents and Ladies, 
i go always in this fashion; 
Throw no blame upon my tailor. 
The fault 's all my old grandmother's. 

SuMiswALD in Canton Been, Octob. 2, 1854. 


IHE human skull is of deceit 
As full as any egg of meat; 
Fiill of deceit 's the human skull 
As any egg of meat is full. 
Some eggs are addled, some are sweet. 
But every egg 's chokeful of meat; 
Clever some skulls, some skulls are dull, 
But of deceit each skull 's chokeful. 
Let your egg addled be or sweet, 
To have your eggshell clean and neat 
The first step is: scoop out the meat; 
And clever let it be or dull, 
If you would have an honest skull ^ 
Out you must scrape to the last grain 
The vile, false, lying, perjured brain. 

Verona, August 19, 1854. 

I AM a versemaker by trade 

And verses of all kinds have made, 

Bdd ones to win me fame and pelf. 

And good ones to amuse myself. 

Of various humor grave and gay 

I poetise the livelong day 

And sometimes sit up half the night 

Some fluent nonsense to indite 

About an elephant or a fly, 

Or Annabel's bewitching eye. 


About past; present; or to come. 

About America; Carthage; KomO; 

About high; loW; or great, or small, 

Or maybe dbout nothing at all. 

I wish you saw me when I write 

Verses for mine own delight; 

I c4n't sit still; I jump about 

Up and down stairs ; in and out; 

My cheeks grow red; my eyes grow bright; 

You 'd swear I 'd lost my senses quite. 

But when I 'm set a verse to spin 

That shall be sure applause to wiu; 

Lord; but it is an altered case! 

I wouldn't my foe see in my place; 

In vain my locks I twirl and pull; 

And bite my nails ; and thump my skull , 

My spirit 's ebbed; my wit 's at null; 

GodS; but it 's hard work to write dull! 

Thrice- gifted Wordsworth — happy bard 

To whom that task was never hard! — 

Teach me the art into my Muse 

Not "gentle pity" to infuse ; 

Or fear or hope or jealousy. 

Or sweet love or philosophy 

And reason strong and manly sense ; 

But paltry cunning; sleek pretence. 

And how to give no vice offence; 

That sits installed in station high 

And mixes with good company; 

In all; sufficient skill to cook 

Some fiddle faddlc; pious book 

On drawing-room table fit to lie 

And catch the idle visitors eye 

And help the author on to fame 


And pension and a poet's name. 

Don't dsk me can I nothing find 

More fitting to employ my mind 

And while away my idle time 

Than ^^stringing blethers up in rhyme" 

For you and other fools to sing^ 

For I 'm as happy as a king: 

My trochees are my diamond crown, 

My anapests my purple gown, 

My pen 's my sceptre, my inkstand 

Serves me for revenues and land, 

And as for subjects — every thing 

In heaven and earth owns me for king; 

So many have I that I choose. 

And take the good, the bad refuse; 

in the whole world, I 'd like to know. 

Where 's th' other king that can do so? 

Walking from Beuern to Wkingarten (Baden), Octob. 14 — 15, 1854. 


' On, to the fight!" St. Arnaud called 
Though faint and like to die; 

^'Bring me my horse and hold me up, 
We '11 win the victory." 

Into the field the hero rushed, 
One held him on each side, 

He won the fight, then turned about 
And dropped his head and died. 

Bruchsat< in Bauen , Octob. 16, 1854. 

Sometimes I Ve with my Muse a miff, 

Sometimes my Muse with me, 
You 'd think we fell out just to have 
The pleasure to agree. 

Last night she came to my bedside 
And twitched me on the ear: — 

"Well, Miss/' said I, turning about, 
"What is it brings you here?" 

"I Ve come to sing you a new song," 
With a sweet smile she said, 

And 6n the table laid her lamp 
And sat down by my bed. 

"This is no time to sing," said I 
And turned me round to sleep, 

"You would not trill one note all day, 
Your song for morning keep." 

No word replied the dear sweet maid, 

Nor taunted me again. 
But gently laid her hand on mine 

And sang so sweet a strain, 

So tender, melancholy, soft. 

That tears came to mine eyes 

And sometimes scarce the words I heard 
For mine own bursting sighs: — 


^^ChArmer^ sing on^ sing ever on, 

We 're once more friends/' I cried; 

'^A thousand years I 'd not think long, 
My songstress at my side." 

I turned about as thus I said, 

But \6 ! the maid was gone, 
Had taken her lamp and left me there 

In the dark night alone. 

In vain I watched the livelong night. 

All day I 've watched in vain: 
But stay — aye, that 's her own dear voice, 

And here she comes again. 

Walking from Oppenau to Beuekn (Baden), Octob. 12 — 13, 1 854. 

oWEET breathes the hawthorn in the early spring 
And wallflower petals precious fragrance fling. 
Sweet in July blows full the cabbage rose 
And in rich beds the gay carnation glows. 
Sweet smells on sunny slopes the new- mown hay, 
And belle -de-nuit smells sweet at close of day. 
Sweet under southern skies the orange bloom 
And lank acacia spread their mild perfume, 
But of all odorous sweets I crown thee queen, 
Plain, rustic, unpretending, black eyed bean. 

Walking from Achenkiuchen to Seehais on tho Acuensee, in the 
German Tyrol. July 0, 1854. 


King win his seat in royal state 
Tdkes on Thought's 6cean shore, 

And ^^Silence!" calls to the loud waves; 
The w4ves but louder roar. 

^^Back back^ audacious^ rebel slaves^ 
How dare ye" - — the king cries — 

^^How ddre ye come my person near?" 
The waves but higher rise. 

And first they drench his velvet shoes 

And then they splash his knee; 
The king's cheeks grow with choler red, 

An angry man is he. 

^^What mean ye^ what?" three times he cries, 

^^Thus to assault your lord; 
Ye shall be hanged up every one — " 

The waves hear never a word ; 

And one comes souse and overturns 

Him and his chair of state — 
Make hdste, good king, and save yourself 

Before it is too late. 

Then comes another, twice as big, 

And rolls him up the shore. 
And says: — "Lie there, and call us slaves 

And vassals never more." 


'^Minion/' faint gasping he 'd have cried 

But 16! the wave was gone^ 
And from the deep already comes 

An6ther rolling on^ 

And breaks and flows over the king 

As if no king were there, 
And knocks about his chair of state 

Like dny common chair. 

^^Enoiigh! he 's had enough/' cries loud 

The fourth wave tumbling in : 
^^Now let him off; though great his crime, 

To drown him were a sin. 

^^Down to this shore, I promise you, 

Unless he is a fool, 
King Will will not come soon again 

Thought's ocean waves to rule." 

^^So be it, so be it," they all reply. 

And ebb and leave him there 
To dry himself as best he can 

And gather up his chair. 

Thdt was the first day king Will claimed 

Rule over Thought's free waves. 
And you may swear it was the last 

He ever called them slaves. 

Walking from Tryberg to Oberwolfach in the Black Forest (Baden), 
Octob. 9 — 11, 1854. 


WELL; it is a, darling creature! 
I could look for ever at it; 
Lovelier baby I saw never — 
Stay — is it a son or daughter? 

Son! I knew it — own Papa's self^ 
Own Papa's nose^ mouth and forehead. 
How I wish its eyes would open! 
I could almost swear they 're hazel. 

Fie! no matter — 't has no sense yet — 
Six weeks ! why , I 'd sdy six months old. 
Wipe its nose — all 's right again now; 
What a sweet smile! why^ it 's an angel. 

Come come, don't frown, master Bobby - 
Isn't it Bobby I 'm to call it? 
First son 's always for Papa called; 
Cherub beauty! let me kiss it. 

Fie again! a spoonful fennel; 
Something sure 's the mdtter with it 
Or it would not twist and whinge so. 
Sweet, good tempered, quiet ducky. 


it 's the gripes; the gripes are wholesome; 
Quick the fennel; mix some suck with 't: 
Dear, sweet credture, how it suffers! 
'Traust be pain that makes it cry so. 

Give 't the breast; what! wont it take itV 
Don't be cross, dear pretty Bobby; 
Pa wont have you if you cry so; 
There there! go to sleep, sweet Bobby. 

Dear me! what can be the matter? 
Maybe 4 pin 's running in it; 
Strip it quick; see! there 's no pin here — 
Poor, dear babe! what is it ails it? 

Heat the flannel at the fire well. 

Drop six drops of brandy on it. 

Bind it tight round — not so strait quite — 

Still it cries as much as ever. 

Where 's the saffron, the magnesia? 
I 'm beginning to be frightened; 
But it looks ill ! call a doctor ; 
Stop , I think it 's growing quiet. 

Hush-o hiish-o; what 's that noise there? 
Shut the door to, draw the curtains. 
Let no foot stir; hush-o hush-o; 
Hush-o, darling baby, hush-o. 

Now it 's quiet, it 's asleep now; 
Hiish-o, darling baby, hush-o; 
And it 's slobbering, that 's a good sign. 
This time God wont take his cherub. 


What a sweet smile ! it 's awake now ; 
TAke it up , put on its clean bib ; 
Now 'twill t4ke the breast I warrant; 
How it sucks , the little glutton ! 

Puking! lovely; it 's all right now. 
Wipe its moiith — another clean bib ; 
Blessings on it for a fine child ! 
Tt will be a gre4t man some day. 

Walking from Todtmoos to Menzensohwand in the Black Forest (Ba- 
den), Octob. 7, 1854. 

written in the album at predazzo in val fieme ( italian 
Tyrol) where geologists find chalk underlying granite. 

JJREAD upon butter spread is rare, 

Rare heels up and heads down, 
Grass growing toward the centre 's rare, 

Rare underfoot a crown; 

But of all rarest, granite here 

Lying on chalk is seen. 
And by some blunder chalk below, 

Where granite should have been. 

July 27, 1854. 


Within the convent of Johannathal, 

Before daybreak upon Ascension day 

There is a sound of more life than is common 

Within Saint Ursula's bare and lofty walls. 

Three times the porteress to the latticed window 

Of the locked gate has put her ear to listen 

If foot of prior's mule might yet be heard 

Or reverend bishop's up the valley ^vending 

From far Saint Martin's, and fourth time at last 

Hearing the hoofs, the portal wicket opens 

And to ^^Gelobt sei Jesus Christus/' answers 

With folded hands ^^In Ewigkeit, Herrn Vater. " 

'^God greet the lady Philippina/' said 

The bishop and the prior entering the parlour, 

"And God greet all the sisters here assembled, 

And God greet trebly her whom here today, 

S4ved from a sinful world, we are to add 

To holy Ursula's pious sisterhood." 

"I need not ask, Sir prior," then said the bishop, 

"if to our dear child Agatha has been 

DiUy administered for seven days past 

Each day the sacrament of the Lord's body. 

Her hedrt being first prepared for its reception 

By full and free confession of her sins 

Even the most venial?" "As thou say'st, my lord." 

"And thou, my lady abbess, of no cause 

Art cognizant why to this sisterhood 


Should not be added one more loving sister, 

Not pldnted in the garden of the Lord 

This shoot of promise, this sweet, fragrant branch?" 

^^I of no hindrance am aware, my lord, 

Unless it be a hindrance, to have passed 

In penitence, obedience, selfdenial 

And works of mercy and beneficence 

The years of her noviciate and white veil." 

^^Then let the child attend us in the chapel, 

If reddy there the coffin and the pall." 

The youngest sister then the candles lit, 

And two by two, each with a light in hand. 

They walked in slow procession from the parlour 

Along the corridor and down the stair 

And round the cloister court into the chapel, 

The novices before, the white veils last. 

Behind the novices the prior singly 

In gown and scapulaire, the bishop then 

In purple pallium, on his head the mitre. 

And in his hand the golden, jewelled crozier. 

Between whom and the white veils the long train 

Of black veils headed by the lady abbess. 

The great bell all the while the death knell tolling. 

Meanwhile two sisters, beckoned by the abbess. 

Conducted to the chapel from her cell 

The 14dy Agatha pale, weak and trembling. 

And on her knees in front of the crypt's staircase 

Placed her beside a lidless, plain deal coffin. 

Of course black stuff her raiment; from her head 

Behind in loose folds hung the long white veil; 

On her white neck a crucifix of jet; 

A gold, gem-stiidded hoop on the ring finger; 

Behind her and at e4ch side of the crypt stair 

Stood motionless the two attendant sisters; 


Behind the crypt the altar hung with black; 

And curtained black the doors, lucernes and windows; 

A single dim lamp from the high vault burning. 

The tolling ceased as entering the chapel 

The sisters ranged themselves in triple file 

Half- moon shaped round the entrance of the crypt, 

The kneeling Agatha and open coffin, 

In edch right hand still burning bright the taper. 

^^Selected child of God/' then said the prior 

Beside the bishop standing in the midst 

And putting into the maid's trembling hand 

The very crucifix Saint Ursula 

Pressed to her lips upon her martyr day, 

*^If of its own free will thine heart accepts 

The words thou now shalt hear the bishop utter — 

Words which for ever from the world divide thee, 

From fdther, mother, friends, and house and home, 

Brother and sister, all the joys of life — 

Swear to the w6rds and kiss the holy rood." 

"Thou swedr'st," then said the bishop, "that till death 

Thou wilt be faithful to the mother church. 

That to the letter thou 'It observe the rules 

And ordinances of Saint Ursula, 

Ob^y the lady abbess of this convent 

In preference to thy father and thy mother. 

And love this sisterhood more than thy sisters, 

Swedr'st that thou 'It live in chastity perpetual. 

Seclusion, poverty and self-abasement, 

And in all things conduct thee as becometh 

The bride of Christ, the adopted of the Lord; 

And as thou keep'st this oath or break'st it, so 

Mdy thy soul when thou diest ascend to heaven 

There to live ever in the joy of the Lord, 

Or be thrust down to hell to dwell for ever 

In torment with the enemies of God." 

^^I swedr/' said Agatha^ and kissed the rood; 

Then^ taking each a hand, the attendant sisters 

Upraised her from her knees and one of them 

Drawing the gold hoop from her finger dropped it 

Into th' offertory held by the other; 

Next from her hedd they undid the long white veil^ 

And loosed and let upon her shoulders fall 

Her golden locks ^ then in their arms both raised her 

And laid her stretched at full length in the cof^n, 

And the pall over her and the coffin spread, 

Leaving the head bare, and beyond the edge 

Of the coffin the dishevelled gold locks hanging: 

Then one of them the locks held while the bishop 

Clean sheared them from the head, saying same time: — 

"As th^se locks never to the head return, 

So thoii returnest never to the world." 

Oiit of the coffin then the two attendants 

Raised her together, and the long black veil 

Threw over her, head, neck and shoulders covering 

Down to her waist behind; the bishop then 

Ndmed her Euphemia, and upon her finger 

Putting the nuptial ring and on her head 

The nuptial crown, pronounced her Christ's affianced, 

The Lord's own spouse now and for ever more, 

And, having given into her hand the attested 

Act of Profession and the Rules of the Order, 

Rosary and prdyerbook, raised both hands and blessed her 

And b4de her go in peace; then the abbess kissed her 

And dll the sisters kissed her one by one; 

And hdving sung a hymn, all left the chapel: 

The novices before, the prior following, 

And then the bishop, next the lady abbess 

Heading the black veils, with the last of whom 


And youngest;, tottering walked the new- professed, 

The white veils last, the great bell again tolling. 

The cloister court they round and up the stair 

To the refectory and collation frugal : 

Sausage and cheese and bread, and each one glass 

Of Riidesheimer four years in the cellar. 

The prior and bishop some short quarter hour 

Converse of things indift'erent with the abbess; 

Take leave; the wicket again opens, closes; 

The patter of the mules' hoofs dies away; 

Each to her separate cell the nuns retire. 

And once more still as death 's Saint Ursula's cloister. 

Next day a messenger conveys the parents 

All of their daughter that they now might claim: 

The golden ringlets sheared off by the bishop ; 

And in one narrow cell from that day forth. 

Strictest and holiest of Saint Ursula's nuns, 

In penitence and prayer lived Agatha, 

Except when morning, noon, or evening bell 

Called her to chapel, or her daily walk 

She took the court round or the high -walled garden. 

Or at long intervals in a sister's presence 

Spoke some short moments through the parlour grating 

With some once dear friend of her former world. 

So forty years she lived and so she died. 

And other Agathas walking where she walked 

Her name read on a flag beneath their feet 

As from the court they turn into the chapel. 

Begun while walking from Ried to Sanct Ajnton on the Adlerberg (Ger- 
man Tyrol), Sept. 4 — 5, 1854; finished at Teufen in Canton Appenzell. 
Sept. 12, 1854. 


I LIKE the Belgian cleanliness and comfort^ 

The Belgian liberty of thought and action, 

The ancient Belgian cities , full of churches 

With pointed windows and long Gothic aisles 

And vocal steeples that pour every hour 

Down from the clouds their larklike melody; 

I love too the soft Belgian languages, 

Walloon and Flemish, and the Belgian song, 

And Belgium's pictures — chiefly thine, Van Eyck! 

Unequalled colorist, and first who dipped 

In oil the pencil. But I like not all. 

Much though I like in Belgium; I like not 

Its hill -less, smooth, unvariegated landscape. 

Where even the very rivers seem to languish; 

Still less I like its parallel, straight- cut roads 

Where seldom but to telescope -armed eye 

Discernible the further end or turning; 

And least of all I like him whom Cologne, 

Proud of a little, fain would call her own, 

Though foreign -born, him of the broad, slouched hat, 

The painter who shades red and with red streaks 

And bloody blotches daubs the sprawling limbs 

Of his fat Venuses and Medicis, 

Susannas, Ariadnes and Madonnas, 

Always except his sweetheart with the straw hat, 


For whose sake I 'd forgive his sins though doubled — 
But other lands invite me, farewell Belgium! 

Thrice welcome ^ Holland! refuge, in old times, 

Of persecuted virtue, wisdom, learning; 

Mighty Rhine- delta, I admire thy ports 

Full of tall masts , wayfarers of both oceans ; 

Thy cabinets replenished with the riches 

Of either Ind; thy dikes, canals, and sluices, 

And territory from the deep sea won 

By thy hard toil and skill and perseverance; 

But I like not thy smug, smooth -shAven faces. 

Sleek, methodistic hair, and white cravats. 

And swallowtailed black coats , and trowsers black ; 

Still less I like the odour of thy streets 

Ere by kind winter frozen, and the far more 

Than Jewish eagerness with which thou graspest 

At every pound or penny fairly earned, 

Or it may be unfairly — so I turn 

Southward my pilgrim step, and say — ^^Farewcll!" 

Two Germanics there are, antipodistic 
Each of the other, a Northern and a Southern : 
Sturdy the one, and stiffnecked and reserved, 
Cautious, suspicious, economical, prudent. 
Industrious, indefatigable, patient. 
Studious and meditative and with art's 
And literature's most noble spoils enriched. 
That raised, three hundred years ago, revolt's 
Audacious standard against mother church 
And from that day has lived and florishcd fair 
Without the help of Pope, Bull, or Indulgence, 
And in its naked, shrineless temples worshipped 
Its unsubstantial notion of a God. 


South Germany, less thoughtful, and preferring 

Ease and known wdys to toilsome innovation, 

Clings to its foresires' creed, and only closer 

And closer clings the more it 's shown to be 

Nonsense downright, hypocrisy and imposture. 

Both Germanics my diligent, plodding feet 

From North to South from East to West have travelled. 

From filthy, rich, commercial, sensual Hamburg 

To the far Drauthal and the Ortelerspitz, 

And from Avhere in the Moldau's wave reflected 

The minarets of Prague, to where broad Rhine, 

Fresh from Helvetia's Alps and glaciers, washes 

Basel's white walls and weak Erasmus' tomb, 

And I have found the German, in the main, 

A plain fair-dealer without second purpose 

And to his word true; seldom over -courteous. 

And always qviite inquisitive enough 

About your name, your country, your religion. 

Whence, whither, what and why and where and when; 

And take fair warning, reader! shouldst thou ever, 

Smit with the love of that coy spinster. Knowledge, 

Venture upon a German tour pedestrian, 

Outside the limits of still courteous Schwarzwald, 

The watchdog all day long his iron chain 

C14nks on each boor's inhospitable threshold. 

And even the inn door in the country opens 

Slowly and sullenly or not at all 

To the belated, tired and houseless stranger. 

From Germany I turn into Tyrol: 
A kindlier, friendlier land; where tired pedestrian 
Though he arrive late has no growl to fear 
Of surly watchdog or more surly landlord, 
But greeted with ^^Willkommen!" and the smile 

7 2 

Of busy^ gay^ key -jingling Kellnerin^ 

Throws down his knapsack on Gast-Stube table, 

And after short delay is helped to the best 

Sausage ; stewed veal, and wine the inn affords; 

Nor is this all; finds when he goes upstairs 

His bed, though nothing wider, has in length 

Gained on the measure of his German crib 

Some good three inches, cleaner far besides 

And better furnished, but for greater width 

Than his cramp German crib's spare thirty inches 

He must have patience till he leaves behind him 

Not Germany alone but North Tyrol, 

And figs, vines, peaches, pomegranates and olives 

And brighter suns and warmer airs announce 

The European Eden, South Tyrol. 

From Val Ampezzo and the belfry Glockner 

And where in crystal vase is still preserved 

The drop of the holy blood, I take my way 

With the descending Drave into Carinthia's 

East- trending valley-land flanked North and South 

By many a snow -clad Alp and ruined castle, 

And sown by many a diligent peasant's hand 

"With melons, maize, hemp, here, oats, beans and barley. 

I rubbed mine eyes and wondered was 't a dream 

When I beheld once more the female face 

Oval and seemly, such as I 'd been used 

To admire in England, Scotland and dear Ireland, 

And had in vain sought through all sprawling-mouthed. 

Broad, prominent cheekboned, cat-eyed Germany. 

But handsome though they be, Carinthia's maids 

Detain not long my faithless, wandering steps, 

And on the banks of Tessin or old Tyber 

Or stretched at ease upon the sunny slopes 

O'erhanging Spezzia's palms and placid bay, 
Behold me wooing soon a lovelier beauty. 

I like thee, Italy, and I like thee not; 

Thoii that a thousand years thine iron sceptre 

Laid'st hedvy on the neck of human kind 

From western Tagus to far eastern Ganges, 

And from the Picts' wall to the burning Line, 

Thine hour of retribution 's come at last 

And crushed beneath the tyrant's heel thou liest 

Writhing unpitied, not again to rise. 

First waned thy private morals, then thy public; 

Thy singleness and honesty of purpose. 

Thy valor, heroism, selfdenial; 

And though, of life tenacious, thy religion. 

Clad in a different mantle and with features 

Adjusted in the mirror of the times. 

Sits in her ancient seat and fain would thence 

Rule as of old the world and act the God, 

A time is coming when even Rome's religion 

Must tumble down and perish like Rome's State, 

Or don another mantle, other features. 

And spreading out with one hand a new forged 

And lying patent, tear down with the other 

From the flagstaff the cross, and round a cone, 

Triangle, square, trapezoid or circle. 

Rally new hosts of wonderworkers, martyrs, 

Voices and signs and omens and believers. 

Such shadowy prospect, far the field outlying 

Of the myopic vision of the vulgar. 

Opens before my strained eye in the dim 

But hourly clear and clearer growing future, 

And intermediate lying a vast plain 

Covered with camps and bivouacs and battles 


And charging horse and foot, and dead and dying, 

Defedt and victory, prisoners and pursuit, 

And burning cities villages and cornfields, 

Rapine and waste and all the whole heart of man ; 

And groans assail mine ears and shouts of triumph, 

And cries of wretches broken on the wheel 

Slow inch by inch, or in the fire consuming. 

Or rotting underground in damp, dark dungeons; 

And, mixed with these, bells ringing, organs pealing. 

And hymns in chorus sung to the new God, 

And preachers' voices loud anathematising 

Christ and his cross, rude barbarous superstition 

Of a benighted, Grod- deserted age. 

Turn, weary ear and shocked, disheartened eye, 

And seek refreshment in the happier past; 

Alas! there 's no refreshment in the past 

For ear or eye; horrors and woeful sounds 

And sights of blood fill the whole backward distance : 

Allah, Christ, Jove, Jehova, Baal and Isis, 

With all their prophets, miracles and priests, 

Sheiks, Popes, Druids, Patriarchs, and Bonzes 

In battle melee charge and countercharge, 

Conquerors alternate, and alternate conquered — 

History, begone! henceforth let no man write 

The annals of his kind, or dissipate 

The sweet and fair illusion that on earth 

S6metimc and somewhere Charity has lived. 

And men not always when they used God's name 

Had fraud or blood or rapine in their hearts. 

Stage upon which so many stirring scenes 

Of the world's history have been enacted, 

Not without awe I tread thee — here where Brutus 

Did his great deed, where Marcus Tullius pleaded, 

Where Br^nnus threw into the wavering scale 


His sword's weight; here where Clodius brawled^ where wronged 

Virginius' knife ended Decemvirates ; 

Here where into the delicate^ fine ears 

Of the world's master^ the Venusian bard 

And Mantuan poured the honey of their song; 

Here where^ resuscitated by the sculptor's 

Life-giving chisel^ round about me stand 

In all their ancient majesty ^ reinstalled^ 

The land's pristine possessors^ heroes heroines 

Gods Demigods philosophers and bards, 

Here is no puppet show no village playhouse. 

So far I wrote or thought, when on mine eyes 

Fell slumber like a veil, and lo! I 'm seated 

On the top bench of a vast circular building, 

Up next the awning; on each hand all round 

Rome's artizans, on the stone benches crowded, 

Look down with strained necks into the Arena; 

I too look down past the filled tiers and wedges, 

Past the dense rows of senators and knights. 

Proconsuls, Pretors, Heads municipal, 

And foreign princes in costumes outlandish, 

And delegates from the round world's three thirds, 

And past the Podium where on gold and crimson 

The Emperor lolled, the Fasces at his back, 

into th' Arena, where in the midst I saw. 

Naked except the loins and all defenceless. 

An old man and a youth together standing; 

And to the question who or what they were 

Received for answer from those sitting near me: — 

'^A father and his son condemned to death 

For spreading blasphemous, Jewish superstitions 

Am6ng the vulgar, teaching them one Christ, 

A Jewish rebel, was their rightful Cesar, 

Jove's bastard by a fair Alcmena Jewess." 


As thus I heard; two glittering swords unsheathed 

Were thr6wn into the midst; and a loud voice 

Proclaimed the Cesar's mercy to that one 

Of the two culprits ; whether son or father. 

Who should the other slay in single fight , 

There in the presence of assembled Rome. 

Cold horror chilled my blood as I beheld 

Father and son, at the same instant armed. 

Brandish the weapons: — ^^Hold/' I cried, ^^hold, hold" 

And woke, and found me in the Coliseum, 

Seated upon the ruined, crumbling Podium, 

Before me and on either side Christ's chapels 

And kneeling worshippers, overhead the cross. 

I know not, Italy, whether thou art fairest 

in thy blue sky, translucent lakes, broad rivers, 

Thy pebbly half-moon bays and hoary headlands, 

Thine irrigated vales of pasture green. 

Thy mantling vines, tall cypresses, gray olives, 

Thy stone-pines, holmoaks dark, and laurels noble. 

Or in the interior of thy marble halls 

Where every pillar, every flag 1 tread on. 

Has felt Bramante's or Palladio's chisel, 

And every wall and every ceiling glows 

Fresh with the tints of Raphael or Guercino ; 

But well I know that where thou shouldst be fairest 

Thou art most foul ; in all the sweet relations 

Of life domestic, Italy! thou art naught: 

Thou know'st no happy fireside, no tea table; 

About the mother, in the evening, never 

Gather the children whether sons or daughters ; 

No book is read, no family instruction; 

Th' example of the father leads the son 

To the Casino and the cofteehouse. 

The mother, seated on her throne the sofa. 


Receives all day long the seductive homage 

Of her obedient^ courteous^ gay cicisbeo, 

And sees not, or cares n6t to see, which way, 

Or whether more than one way, roves the husband. 

The daughters, to the convent sent, learn plain 

And fancy work, a little music, spelling. 

Less writing, and no counting but to know 

Upon the rosary how many beads, 

How many Saint's -days in the calendar, 

And on the satin frock to be presented 

To the Madonna on her Son's birthday 

How many spangles will have best effect. 

Ah, Italy! thou that so chaf'st against 

A foreign yoke, so kick'st against the pricks. 

Ere into thy long -unaccustomed hands 

Thou tak'st the government of thyself, first teach 

One of thy sons to govern well himself 

And his own house; the social virtues 

Precede, not follow, the political; 

An independant State 's created by. 

Ere it creates, good husbands, parents, children. 

Between me and my home lies many an Alp 
With many a toilsome, rugged, steep ascent. 
And she^r descending, dizzy precipice. 
And many a chasm, and dwful, black abyss. 
Ravine and fissure in the splintered mountain. 
To be crossed over on the insecure 
And crazy footing of half- rotten plank 
Mossgrown and slippery with the drizzling spray 
Of the loud roaring cataract beneath. 
Fr6m my youth up I 've loved thee, Switzerland; 
At scho61, in college loved thee; of thee dreamed 
While 6n mine ears the lecturer's dry theme 


Unfructifying fell^ or in my hand 

Forgot and useless lay dissectors knife; 

And when at last the college Term went by, 

And the damp foggy days and long dark nights 

Gave way to joyous July's glowing sun, 

With what a light, elastic heart I threw 

My knapsack on my shoulder, in my hand 

My wanderers staff took, and set out to scale 

Thy snowy mountains, thy green valleys tread. 

Drink thy free air and feel myself a man! 

Lonely my wanderings then, my sole companions 

The river and the breeze, the cloudy rack. 

Or some stray goat, or sheep that to my hand, 

Expecting salt, came bleating; later years 

Brought me a comrade; a coeval youth. 

Wooer like me of Nature, by my side 

Step for step taking with me, the long way. 

The day tempestuous or the evening's gloom 

Cheered with sweet interchange of thoughts congenial. 

Upon this mossy bank we sat together. 

Twenty five years ago this very day. 

And wdtched September's mitigated sun 

Go down, as now it goes, behind yon Stockhorn; 

From Merligen's white steeple on our left 

Rest rest, ye weary! even as now was tolling; 

And high above, high high above, the horn 

Of Morgenberg, the Jungfrau's frozen cheeks 

And Monch's and Eigher's glowed, as now, bright vermeil 

Under the last kiss of departing Day; 

Before us in the mirror of the lake 

The Niesen pyramid, point downward, trembled, 

And down below the point the crescent moon 

And, lower still, gray evening's silver star 

Their unpretentious, mingled light as now 

Were wide and wider every moment spreading 

O'er the subaqueous heaven's fast Avaning blue; 

Here on this bank we sat opposite the Niesen, 

My friend and I, that calm September evening, 

Planning our journey for the following year 

Up yonder Simmenthal to well loved Leman: 

But to my friend, alas! no following year 

Came cA-er; to his fatherland returned 

An earlv j^rrave received him, and for vears 

Long yciirs thou 'st been to me a stranger, Thun ! 

And thy sweet, placid lake, and Simmenthal, 

And well loved Leman. With the more delight 

Albeit subdued, I myself changed meanwhile. 

View from this well known bank the unchanged prospect. 

Mountain and lake, blue sky and star and moon, 

And snow rosetinged by the same setting sunbeams. 

Ah, that insensitive nature so should live 

While every thing that feels so dies and changes ! 

Yet let me not complain, for out of death. 

Death onlv, comes new life, and if mv youth's 

And manhood's friends lie in their sepulchres, 

I 've here beside me sitting on this bank 

The friend of my declining years, my daughter, 

Sharing the toils and pleasures of my travel 

And from me learning early to despise 

The brilliancy of cities, and to seek 

Less on the horse's back and in the carriage 

Than from the use pedestrian of her limbs 

In daily journies over hill and valley 

Bodily vigor; more the mind's adornment 

In observation and comparison. 

With her own eyes and ears and head and hands, 

Of wonder-working Nature's ways and means, 

Thdn in the formal, cold accomplishments 


Of fashionable boardingschool or college 

Skilled to inculcate fundamental errors 

As fundamental truths, and in the name 

Of reason ; virtue and religion teach 

Gross superstition, immorality, 

And how to reason ill and falsely judge. 

But faded from the Jungfrau's highest snows 

And Monch's and Eigher's, day's last roseate tint; 

The moon, grown yellower, 's sinking fast behind 

The darkening Niesen; and no more a lone 

Sp4ngle of silver on gray Evening's brow 

Shines Hesperus, but brightest of the bright 

Diamonds that sparkle in Night's jewelled crown — 

Come come, my child, let 's hasten to the hamlet; 

Mind well thy steps; the night 's dark, the way rocky: 

Good night, sweet lake, we meet again tomorrow. 

Walking from Peterzell (Canton St. Gall , Switzerland) by the Lakes 
of The Four Forest Cantons, Sarnen, and Tuun to Falkau in the Black 
Forest, Baden; Sept. tO to Octob. 7, 1854. 


What a wonder of wisdom, it has often -been said, 
Mezzofanti with twenty seven tongues in one head! 
Greater w6nder of wisdom — I vow I don't mock — 
Mezzofanti with twenty seven keys for one lock. 

Walking from Argenthal to Simmern (Rhenish Prussia); Octob. 29, 1S54. 

Once on a time it happened as I was lounging in the Vatican 

I met an old friend of mine^ a very ledrned man — 

^^Now I could almost swear I know the very man you mean; 

A shilling to a penny, it has Cardinal Mai been." 

Done! and you Ve lost your bet for these weighty reasons two: 

He 's neither learned nor a friend of mine, that pippin-hearted 

Unless you count it learning, to be perpetually men's ears 

With his scouring of old book-shelves, and palimpsest restoring. 
And unless you call it friendship that twice my hand he shook 
And kissed me on both cheeks, and took a present of my book; 
So much as this of his Eminence I learned three years ago. 
And more than this of his Eminence I don't desire to know. 
So to go back to where I was when you interrupted me: — 
^^I 'm heartily glad," said I, ^^my good old friend to see; 
And are you very well? and when did you come to Rome? 
And what is it brings you here? and how are all at home?" 
^^I 'm very well," said he, ^^and at home I left all well, 
And since yesterday I 'm here, and now please to me tell 
How things are going on here, and what 's the newest news 
With the Pope or the Consulta or your own sweet Irish Muse." 
"As for my Muse," said I — for I always put her first — 
^^Of all places in the wide world Rome is for her the worst, 
For she 's always kept so busy here gazing round on every side 
With uplifted hands and open mouth and eyelids staring wide 
On painting, arch and statue, pillar, obelisk and dome 
And all the thousand wonders of ever wondrous Rome, 


That I can't get one word out of her let me teaze her as I may 
Except "Please let me alone, Sir," and "I '11 do no work today." 
And as for the Consulta, it doesn't consult with me, 
And if it did I doubt me much 'twere long ere we 'd agree. 
And then as to his Holiness, I hope you don't suppose" — 
And here I looked as wise as I could and clapped my finger 

on my nose — 
"Dear Sir, has anything happened or do you anything know?" 
"Not I indeed, my good friend, or I 'd have told you long ago; 
But this much I can tell you and I doubt not but it 's true, 
And remember what I say now 's strictly between me and you: 
This building here 's the Vatican, this city is called Rome — 
And mum about his Holiness until we both get home." 

Walking from Worms to Kreuznach in Rhenish Prussia, Oct. 27 — 28, 1854. 

I WISH I were that little mouse 
That no rent pays for his house, 
That neither sows nor reaps nor tills, 
Biit his pliimp, round belly fills 
With cheeseparings or a slice. 
Left on my pldte, of bacon nice. 
Soon as spredd night's raven shades 
And to bed are boys and maids 
And silence th^ whole house pervades, 
Mousey pops nose, whiskers out, 
Sniffs the air and looks about — 
The codst is clear; right joyfully 
Out on the cdrpet canters he 
To take his pleasure all the night 
And sport about till morning light. 
He has not on lazy groom to wait, 
Codchman and equipage of state; 

83 6* 

He has not to shave, brush, tie cravat. 

Look for gloves ; cane, cards and hat, 

This countermand and. order that, 

But always ready dressed and trim, 

And sleek and smooth, sound wind and limb, 

Springs out light -heart upon the floor, 

Capers from window to the door. 

From door to window, many a race 

Takes round the washboard and surb^se, 

Nibbles the criist I Ve purposely 

Dropped on the crumbcloth while at tea, 

Climbs up the wainscot, and a swing 

Ventures upon the bellpull ring; 

Or scales the leg of the escritoire, 

Squeezes int6 th' half open drawer, 

Among the papers plays about 

A minute or two, then scampers out. 

And p4st the inkstand as he goes 

With such a curl turns up his nose 

As thorough - bred gentility shows 

And that your mousey 's too well born 

Not to hold literature in scorn. 

So happy mousey sports away 

The livelong night till dawning day. 

And only then of slumber thinks 

When through the window -shutter chinks 

Long streAks of light fall on the floor 

And milk -pail clink at the hall door 

Announces man's return to toil. 

Fresh cdrc and s6rrow, cark and coil, 

And that an6n into the room 

Will burst with sweeping -brush and broom 

Dowdy Lisetta, half awake. 

Her fiissy morning round to take, 


Dust table, sofa; sideboard^ cliair; 
Throw up the sash to let in air, 
Polish the irons , light the fire — 
Mousey ; it 's time you should retire 
And leave your hapless neighbour, man, 
To enjoy his daylight as he can 
While you lie napping snug, till night 
Invites you out to new delight — 
Ah ! mousey, if you 'd change with me 
How happy in your place I 'd be! 

Walking from Bbuchsal to HEiDELBEito, and at Heidelberg; Octob. IT 
and 24, 1854. 


To the key of mij strong box. 

1 HREE things thou testifiest , careful key : 
First that there is on earth something material — 
Vile therefore and corrupt and perishable — 
Which yet my fine, imperishable soul 
Prizes, esteems and cares for; secondly 
That i 'm the happy owner of such treasure; 
And thirdly that I Ve found a talisman 
Wherewith to guard it from the covetous eye 
And often thievish, sometimes burglar, hands 
Of the innumerable hordes whose fine, 
Etherial, heaven - sprung, heaven -returning spirits 
Pursue with appetite keener even than mine 
And more unscrupulous, the chase of Earth's 
Despised, reviled, repudiated riches. 

Walking from Heidelberg to Frankekthal in the Palatinate, Octob. 26, 1S51. 



As my dog and my cat 
At the parlour lire sat 

One cold night after tea^ 
Says my dog to my cat: — 
"By this and by thdt 
- You shall not purr at me." 

Says my cat, looking blue: — 
"Sir, I don't purr at you. 

And I mean you no harm; 
'Twere a pity that we 
Should just then least agree 

Wheji we 're most snug 

and warm.' 

Says my dog: -- "Mistress Minn, 
I don't care one pin 

For your warm or your cold; 
But this much I know: 
If you keep purring so 

I '11 to t6wse you make bold." 

Snarly Snap growls attack; 
Minnie Minn humps her back 

And jumps up on a chair; 
'Twas not she caused the strife. 
But she '11 fight for her life 

If to touch her he ddre. 


She has four sets of cldws. 
And sharp teeth in both j^ws, 

And two eyes glaring fire; 
Snarly Sn^p, if you 're wise 
You '11 not count on your size 

But ground arms and retire. 

But the dog or the man 
Point me out if you can 

That beforehand is wise — 
Snarly Snap makes a bounce^ 
On his miizz gets a trounce 

That makes bleed nose and eyes. 

Snarly Snap turns his tail 
And to me comes with wail 

And complaint against Minn : — 
^^^Nay, Snarly Snap, ^^J] 
Those the piper must pay 

Who the dancing begin. 

"But you 've both trespassed so 
That oiit both must go, 

For I love to be jiist;" 
So I called for the broom, 
And oiit of the room 

Both belligerents thrust. 

Bruchsal in Badkn, Octob. 16, 1854. 



At NIne o' Clock ^ weary ^ I lie down in bed; 

At Ten o' Clock swarms of gnats buzz round my head; 

At Eleven can it bugs be that over me creep? 

At Twelve for the tickling of fleas I can't sleep; 

At One how that bold squalling brat I could flog! 

At Two o' Clock bow -wow -wow goes the watchdog; 

From Thkee out every quarter hour crows chanticleer; 

At Four down the street rattling the Malleposte I hedr; 

From the steeple the matins come pealing at FIve; 

At Six to the market the carts and cars drive ; 

At Seven from my face I 'm kept brushing the flies; 

At EioHT I can't sleep for the sun in my eyes ; 

At Mne comes a sudden tap tap to my door; 

I rise in my shirt and barefoot cross the floor^ 

Turn the key and peep out: — ^^Well^ my good friend; what 

now r 
^^Please will you be shaved. Sir?" replies with a b6w 
A little ; pert; dapper ; smug f4ced gentleman 
With apron and razor and hot -water can; 
Struck with horror I slam the door to in his face. 
Gentle reader, imagine yourself in my place. 
With a beard such as mine, and a threat to be shdved. 
And all the night sleepless — how had you behaved? 
But I did him no harm, only slammed the door to — 
An example of patience for Christian and Jew — 
Then dressed, breakfasted, set out and, travelling all ddy. 
Passed the night in the next inn much in the same way. 

Walking from Mehuen to Losheim , in the Eifel (Rhenish Prussia); 
Novcm. 1—2, 1854. 



Off I go a redcoat soldier^ old England's lion ciib; 

With my sergeant and my colors and my rub-a-dub -a-diib; 

Here 's my firelock, here 's my bayonet, here 's my leather 

cross -belt white, 
Here 's my shining black cartouche -box — March! halt! 

face left and right! 

There 's a hundred thousand of us, counting every mother's 

And not one among us all knows why the war 's begiin; 
That 's oiir commander's business, our business is to fight, 
Down with our country's enemies, and God defend the right. 

Good bye, my pretty Idssy, I 'm going from you far; 
Think sometimes of your redcoat when you hear talk of the 

war ; 
Take half this bran-new sixpence for a pledge twixt you and 

And every time you say your prayers, pray for our victory. 

Come come, let 's have no fretting to spoil those pretty eyes; 
I 'd rather have one sweet smile than all your tears and 

Here 's a hundred kisses for you — one more for luck — 

don't cry — 
And now I 'm off in earnest, good bye, my lass, good bye. 

Kreuznach in Rhenish Prussia, Octob. 29, 1854. 



So this is Heaven." said I to my conductor, 
"And I 'm at last in full and sure possession 
Of life eternal: let me look about me. 
Methinks, somehow, it "s nut what I expected: 
Nor can I say I feel that full delight, 
That extasy I had anticipated. 
Perhaps the reason is. it 's all so new, 
And I must here, as on the Earth below. 
Grow by degrees accustomed and inured." 
Mv guide replied not. but went on before me. 
I following: — "Are you siire we are in Heaven?" 
Said i, srrowing uneasy: for I saw 
Neither bright sky, nor sun. nor flowers, nor trees; 
Heard no birds caroling, no gurgling waters: 
Far less saw angel forms, heard angel voices 
Singing in chorus praise to the Most High: 
But all was blank and desert, dim and dull . 
Misty, obscure and undistinguishable. 
Foi-mless and void as if seen through thick fog 
Or not seen through, but only the fog seen. 
The fog alone, monotonous, uniform, 
Rayless, impenetrable, cheerless, dark: 
And all was silent as beneath the ocean 
Ten thousand thousand fathom, or at the centre 
Of the solid Earth: and when I strove to speak 

I started, started when I strove to hear 

My guide's responses, for neither my guide 

Nor I spoke humanly, nor in a human 

Language, for I had left my tongue on Earth, 

To rot with my body, and had become a spirit 

Voiceless and earless, eyeless and etherial, 

And with my guide, for he too was a spirit, 

Conversed by consciousness without the aid 

Of voice or tongue or ears or signs or sounds: — 

"If this indeed is Heaven," said I at last 

Or strove or wished to say, "in pity bring me 

Out of the waste and horrid wilderness 

To where there is some light, some sound, some voice, 

Some living thing, some stir, some cheerfulness." 

"Spirit, thou talk'st as thou wert still in the flesh, 

And still hadst eyes to see, and ears to hear, 

And touch wherewith to hold communication 

With solid and material substances. 

What use were light here where there are no eyes? 

What use were sounds here where there are no ears? 

What use were substance where there are no bodies? 

Here cheerful stir or action would but harm 

Where every thing 's already in perfection, 

Already in its right, most fitting place. 

Nay, sigh not, spirit; this is thy wished Heaven." 

"At least there is communion among spirits. 

Spirits know and love each other, spirits hope, 

Spirits rejoice together, and together 

Sing Hallelujahs to the Lord their God." 

"I said that spirits sing not, when I said 

Spirits have neither voices, tongues, nor ears; 

And where 's the room for hope, or love^ or knowledge 

Where there 's no heart, brain, ignorance or passion? 

With thy conductor there 's indeed communion, 

9 t 

Siich as between us now^ till thou 'rt installed 

And in complete possession; of itself 

Then ceases all communion^ useless grown-, 

And thou art l^ft in thy beatitude^ 

Untouched, unstirred , through all eternity; 

Without all care, all passion, hope and fear; 

Nothing to do or suffer, seek or avoid." 

"Then bring me, ere communion wholly ceases. 

Quick bring me to my mother's sainted spirit. 

Mainly that I might once more see my mother. 

Know and embrace and to my bosom press her, 

Longed I for Heaven; quick, kind conductor, quick." 

"Thou hast no mother, spirit; never hadst. 

Spirits engender not, nor are engendered. 

She whom thou call'st thy mother, was the mother 

Not of thy spiritual, but thy fleshly nature. 

Thou, spirit, com'st from God, and having dwelt 

Some few, brief seasons in the fleshly body 

Engendered by the flesh thou call'st thy mother 

Retiirn'st, by me conducted, back to Heaven, 

Leaving behind thee in the Earth to rot 

The consanguineous flesh, mother and son." 

"Then bring me to the spirit that sometime 

Dwelt in that flesh which mixed with other flesh 

The flesh engendered which, below on Earth, 

So long as it lived, afforded me kind shelter." 

"Thou know'st not what thou ask'st, scarce spiritual spirit; 

Even were communion possible in Heaven 

Twixt spirits which on Earth had grown acquainted 

Through th' Occident of having inhabited 

Related bodies, such communion were 

In this case out of the question, for the spirit 

Which chanced to have its dwelling in that flesh 

By which the flesh in which thou dwclt'st on Earth 


Was generated; is not here in Heaven, 

But down, down, down at the other side of the Earth, 

Down in the depths of Hell, for ever there 

Condemned by the unchangeable decree 

6f the Allmerciful, to writhe in torment." 

He said, or seemed to say; with horror struck 

I shrieked, methought, and swooned, and know no more. 

Trompeteb - ScHLOESSCHEN , DRESDEN, June 11, 1 S54. 


DY a shallow, purling streamlet. 
Sat a lovely maiden weeping: — 
^^Men are false; I always thought so; 
Now, alas! at last I know it. 

^'^Break, tough heart; why throb on longer 
Mocked, forsaken and despairing? 
In this brook here I would drown me 
Were there biit enough of water." 

By a deep and rapid river 
Next day sits the weeping maiden. 
Eyes the flood a while, then shuddering 
Rises and away walks slowly: — 

"Men are false; I always thought so; 
Now, alas! at last, I know it. 
Next time thdt a m4n deceives me 
I '11 know where to find deep water." 

Trompeter-Sciiloessciien, Dresden, .Tune 8, 1S54. 



What dog is that^ Sir, tell me, pray. 
That by my side the livelong day. 
Where'er I go — up, down, left, right — 
Trots steady while the sun shines bright, 
But when the sky begins to lower 
And gathering clouds portend a shower. 
Sneaks prudent off, and far away 
Lies in safe shelter till Sol's ray 
Breaks out once more on hill and plain. 
When 16! he 's at my side again?" 

^^Your comrade of the sunny ray, 
That leaves you on a cloudy day. 
Packs up his traps and runs away — 
I 'd not my time hair-splitting spend — 
Must be your shadow or — your friend." 

Walking from Bebtrich to Mehren, in the Eifel (Rhenish Prussia); 
Octob. 31, 1854. 

If well thou wouldst get through this troublesome world," 
Said once a dying father to his son 
Who at his bedside weeping asked his counsel, 
^^Thou must to these two principal points attend: 
First, thou must never dare to wear thy shoes 
With broad, square toes while narrow- pointed shoes 
Are dll the fashion. Second, thou must never 


Assert God's unity when all around 

Maintain he 's triune. These are the two points 

On which especially thy fortune hinges." 

'^But if my neighbours are among themselves 

Divided on these points, and some their shoes 

Wear square-toed and maintain God's unity, 

While some their shoes wear with long narrow toes 

And swear that God was never but triune, 

What then, dear father? how am I to judge?" 

"Hold with the strongest party, for the strongest 

Has always right. If balanced are the parties. 

Especially if they wage civil war 

Against each other, thou art free to use 

The liberty which honest men acquire 

When knaves fall out, and if thou pleasest wear 

Thy shoes even roiind-toed and declare thy faith 

Either in none or in a dual God." 

This said, the wise old man hiccup'd and died; 

And the son, ever from that day forth moulding 

Both sho6s and creed according to the counsel, 

Lived honored and respected, rose to wealth 

And power and dignity and on his deathbed 

Left to his son again the talisman. 

Walking from St. Gall to Schwellbrunn in Canton Appenzell, Sept. 
15, 1854. 


Another and another and another 

And still another sunset and sunrise , 

The same yet different, different yet the same, 

Seen by me now in my declining years 

As in my early childhood, youth and manhood; 

And by my parents and my parents' parents, 

And by the parents of my parents' parents, 

And by their parents counted back for ever, 

Seen, all their lives long, even as now by me; 

And by my children and my childrens' children 

And by the children of my childrens' children 

And by their children counted on for ever 

Still to be seen as even now seen by me; 

Clear and bright sometimes, sometimes dark and clouded 

But still the same sunsetting and sunrise; 

The same for ever to the never ending 

Line of observers, to the same observer 

Through 411 the changes of his life the same: 

Sunsetting and sunrising and sunsetting. 

And then again sunrising and sunsetting, 

Sunrising and sunsetting evermore. 

HEiDELBERa, Octob. 25, 1854. 




(jET lip; fool, t'r<)m your bended knee; 
God has no eyes and cannot see." 
"But men have eyes and see me kneel; 
To kneel to God is quite genteel." 
"^^Then kneel away, but don't grimace; 
An ugly thing 's a long-drawn face." 
"I beg excuse ; it 's so they paint 
Madonna, Magdalen and saint." 
"At ledst your oratory spare, 
The wheedling rhetoric you call prayer; 
Or for the God blush, who, to do 
What 's right, needs to be coaxed by you." 
"My rhetoric were indeed misplaced, 
Of good breath a mere wanton waste. 
Had my by -standing friends no ear 
The humble, suppliant voice to hoar, 
In which I let th' Omniscient know 
What we think of him here below, 
And how, if he 'd few blunders make, 
Me for his counsellor he should take, 
And, in all things requiring nice 
Discrimination, my advice 
Exdctly following, himself spare 
Responsibility and care, 


And me scarce less anxiety 

Lest ^11 should not Avell managed be." 

*^ Incomparably honest friend, 

Pray on; my lecture 's at an end; 

There 's not a word you Ve said but 's true; 

I '11 kneel beside you and pray too." 

Fleurus , Hainaut.t (Belgium), Nov. 10, 1854. 


Jack and Jock once met each other 

On a rodd that edst and west lay, 

Posting both as fast as 4ble, 

Westward Jack, and Jock due eastward: — 

^^ Whither, Jack, in such a hurry?" 
Said Jock, stopping short and greeting. 
^^ Straight to heaven," replied Jack hasty, 
^^Tiirn about, Jock, and come with me." 

'^What! to heaven?" said Jock astonished; 
^^Jack, you can't to heaven get that way; 
Heaven lies eastward every child knows — 
Come with me, I 'm bound straight for it. ' 

^^Bah!" said Jack, "you 're surely joking; 
Why, it 's straight to hell you 're going, 
if you 're wise you '11 turn with me, Jock; 
Read the signpost: HEAVf:N ■^'*"" AiiLES east.' 


'^What care ly Jack, for your signpostV 
All my friends have still gone this way; ^ 

Father ; mother, both grandfathers, 
All my uncles, aiints and cousins." 

^^For your friends I care as little, 
Jock, as you care for my signpost, 
But to end our difference let us 
Leave it to the toll-bar keeper." 

To the toll-bar Jack and Jock go, 
Doff their bonnets , put the question : — - 
^^ Gentlemen," replies the toll -man, 
^'^ Please both of you pay the toll first." 

Paid the toll, says the toll -keeper 
With a shrewd shrug of his shoulders: — 
"Gentlemen, you 're free to take now 
Either road to heaven or neither." 

So the two friends followed on straight 
Each the way he had been going, 
And I doiibt much either 's nearer 
Heaven today than when he started. 

Walking from Baseclbs to Tournay (Belgium). Nov. 14, 1854. 


My lord bishop/' said the beggar, 
^^Thou and I in Christ are brethren, 
Let us therefore live as brothers: 
t '11 begin; do thoii as I do. 

^^Here 's one half my criist and bacon, 
Here 's one of my tAvo sixpences ; 
Now give me one half the income 
Of thy sec and presentations." 

^^Yes, beyond doubt we are brethren/' 
Said the bishop with a grave smile, 
'^And have both received our portions 
From the same impartial Parent. 

"To divide again were impious 
Discontentedness on our parts ; 
Keep thou thine as I will mine keep, 
And let both praise the great giver. 

"But as I am bound in fairness 

To acknowledge I 've the lion's share, 

Take this charitable shilling 

And my blessing, and no more say." 

Wfilkirit;- from rANTi'.RRiiKv to Rittinuhournk (Kent), Nov. 23 , 1854. 

i 00 


TONGUELESS thou 'st yet a triple voice, gray lock; 

For, first, thou speakcst of a time when soft, 

Brown, glossy, curly hair my temples shaded; 

When supple and elastic were my joints. 

My strong heart full of joy and hope and courage. 

My infant reason breathless in pursuit 

Of fugitive, light- foot, ignis -fatuus Knowledge; 

A time when in my curling locks my mother 

Her fingers used to wreathe and smiling say : — 

"Heaven bless my boy and make him a good man." 

And next thou speakest of a time, gray lock, 

When prematurely with my yet brown hair 

White hairs began to mingle, and my mother 

With tender hand would pluck them and say sighing: 

"These might have well a little longer waited, 

And spared the sorrow to a mother's eyes." 

And i would smile, and press her hand and say: — 

"Be of good heart; we Ve many a year before us, 

Mother and son, to live, and love each other. 

My vigorous manhood sheltering and protecting 

Her in whose shelter safe I grew to manhood." 

And last, thou speakest of a time, gray lock — 

A time, alas! no longer in perspective, 

Distant and dim and dreaded, but here present — 

When the kind fingers , that in my brown curls 


Once wredthed themselves or plucked the odd white hair^ 

Lie mouldering in the sepulchre^ and I^ 

Three fourths my journey made to the same goal; 

Play with my fingers in my daughter's curls 

And sigh and sdy: — ^^ Already a white hair!" 

Such triple voice hast thou, truthful gray lock. 

Fontaine l'Eveqite, Hainault (Belgium); Nov. 12, 1854. 



OLAiN by an angel in the guise of woman 
Here lies that fi^nd incarnate ; Jean Marat; 
The enemy of mankind, The People's Friend.* 
Alas, magnanimous Corday, that the world 
Must biiy its riddance from the incubus 
At the too high price of thy virgin blood ! 

Lille, Dep. du Nord (France); Nov. 17, 1854. 

Let men boast their Brutus, 
Scevol4 and Codes, 
Women have their greater. 
Nobler, purer Corday. 

Lille, Dep. du Nord (France); Nov. 17, 1854. 

* L'ami du peuple. 

1 02 

I DON'T know thee, S6rrow, 
Have no wish to know thee, 
D6n't admire thy pdle face 
Dro6ping lids and moist cheeks. 

Yet methinks I 've se^n thee — 
Ah ! I n6w remember — 
Twice before I Ve seen thee. 
Dismal, black -robed Sorrow. 

First when on her deathbed 
L4y my noble mother 
And with failing breath breathed 
Blessings 6n her children, 

There beside the deathbed 
i beheld thee, Sorrow, 
Wring thy hdnds in dnguish. 
And the scalding tear shed. 

Next I saw thee. Sorrow, 
Sitting by my Ann Jane's 
New-made mound sepulchral 
in the vale of Sarca. 

I "^ 

No tear then thy cheek wet, 
Nor didst thou thy h4nds wring, 
But beside the grave sat'st 
Gazing on the fresh earth; 

On the fresh earth gazing 
Motionless as sculptured 
Mourner in a church aisle, 
inside a tomb's railing. 

Too, too w611, I know thee, 
Sunk cheeked, red eyed Sorrow; 
Hie thee to the graveyard, 
Here there 's no place for thee. 

TouRNAY (Belgium j, Nov. 15, J>54. 

AH! it 's hated daybreak, 
And the dear dreams vanish. 
Visions of the p4st time, 
Fdces of the well loved. 

Once again she has left me 
Here alone to mourn her. 
She that bade me farewell 
in the vale of Sarca, 

Waved her hand and said : — ^^Jamcs. 
Henceforth we meet never 
But in dreams and visions 
Of the deep and dead night; 


'^Then we '11 sometimes meet, James, 
As of old we met oft, 
And while we 're together 
Think we 've never parted." 

Fly fly, hdted daylight! 
Sweet night, come again quick! 
Till again I meet her 
Who by daylight never 

Meets me since we parted 
In the vale of S^rca — 
Would there were no daylight, 
Biit deep midnight ever! 

TouRNAY (Belgium), Nov. 16, 1854. 

1 WOULD not believe it, 
Though a thousand sw6i*e it, 
That the great and good God 
Punishes his crcJiturcs; 

Why did he so make them — 
That same great and good God — 
With those powerful passions 
And that piiny foresight? 

Like the boiling lava, 

Like the howling tempest, 

Like the rolling thunder, 

Like the flashing lightning, 

1 06 

Rushing unexpected 
Comes the passion on them ; 
When the passion 's on them, 
Where 's the power to stay it? 

Ah, the hapless creatures! 
H6w they 're torn and tattered 
By the rdging passions 
Given them by the go6d God! 

Let it come more slowly, 
Stealthily creep on them, 
Still it comes as surely, 
The insidious passion*, 

Coils itself about them. 
Squeezes bones and marrow, 
With its fangs their flesh nips, 
Spirts its venom on them. 

Ah the hapless creatures 
Bitten, squeezed and poisoned 
By the venomous passions 
Given them by the good God! 

H6 it is I 'd piinish 
Who the passions gave them, 
Not the hdpless creatures 
Victims of the passions. 

Walking from Fleurus to Fontaine l'Eveque, Hainault (Belgium); 
Nov. 11 , 1854. 

t OA 

Betrothed maiden sings. 

Welcome! welcome! welcome! 
Pretty cleft - tailed swallow, 
Twittering at my window 
Jiist before the sunrise. 

Where hast been all winter, 
Pretty cleft -tailed swallow, 
fn what pledsant w4rm lands 
Far beyond the deep sea? 

Tell me hast thou seen him, 
My hardhearted truelove, 
Who last autumn left me 
And took shipping southward; 

For the south took shipping 
And alone here left me 
To watch for him always 
And look always southward. 

Yes yes, thou hast seen him, 
Bring'st good tidings of him : 
That he 's well and happy: 
That he s homeward coming; 

Else, my pretty swallow, 
Thou wouldst not so ji;aily 
Twitter at my window 
Just bef6re the sunj'ise, 

Biit wouldst go and hide thee 
Sadly in some corner 
With the moping owlet 
And ill-boding raven. 

Yes he 's coming homeward, 
Pretty cleft- tailed swallow^ 
Tell me the whole story^ 
Twitter^ twitter^ twitter. 

Walking from Baillkul to Ebblinghem , Dep. du Nord (France); 
Nov. 19, 1851. 

Eat your oatS; my pony; 
'Tis your master brings them^ 
Feeds you with his own hand^ 
Loves to hear your whinny. 

Outside it 's a rough night, 
Rainy, cold, and blowing; 
Here you re sniig and cozy, 
To your knees in fresh straw. 

With old hay your rack 's filled, 
P^at and slee}) till morning, 
Then [ '11 bring you m<)i'e oats — 
Pleasant dreams, my pony. 
TouRNAY (Belgium); Nov. 15, 1854. 

1 o« 

limigrani sinijs. 

M6t a day from heaven comos 
Biit I think a dozen times 
Of those I Ve behind me 
Left in my old country, 

Of my father ; mother, 
Of my sisters ; brothers, 
Of my aiints and cousins, 
Wondering how they all are; 

But of thee, my Nanny, 
Each day I but once think, 
For thou 'rt absent never 
From my mind one moment. 

St. OMjiR, Pas de Calais (France); Nov. 20, 1854. 



Dlessings on my baby, 
God preserve and Ipve it, 
From all danger keep it, 
Waking, sleeping, Always. 

Don't make it a great man, 
Gracious God, I pray thee; 
Greatness is uncertain, 
Of itself down tumbles. 

Don't make it a wise man : 
Wisdom is mere f611y — 
Persecuted always, 
Hated by the whole world. 

Biit make it a kind man; 
Kindness still is happy, 
Even while it 's cheated, 
ill used by the whole world. 

TouBNAY (Belgium); Nov. 15, 1854. 


Lawless robber, bloody cut-throat," 
Said the soldier to the brigand, 
^^i shall see thee hanged I hope yet, 
Were it but as an example 
That slow- footed justice sometimes 
Overtakes the malefactor." 

"Licensed robber, wholesale ciit-throat," 
Said the brigand to the soldier, 
"i shall see thee shot I hope yet, 
Were it but as an example 
That one-sided justice sometimes 
is by accident impartial.' 

Stau Inn, Gillingham (Kknt); Nov. 23, 1851. 

To my gray bearcl. 

It 's a bargain; gray beard, 
Signed and sedled and published, 
Thou and 1 the opposite 
High contracting parties. 

Thou on thy part, gray beard, 
Undertak'st to cover 
And, as far as may be. 
Hide from view the furrows 

Time has on my sunk cheeks 
And about my lips ploughed, 
And before my toothless 
Shrunk gums hang a thick veil. 

Thou shalt further, gray beard. 
All the livelong winter 
With thy friendly muffle 
Shield my throat and lank jaws, 

Making me feel warmer 
Than if round my neck tied 
Comforter of lamb's wool 
Or chinchilla tippet. 


Lastly, thoii eugagest 

That no (3no shall henceforth 

Take me tor a woman 

Or dwarfed, withered schoolboy. 

I; on my part^ bind me 


Every day to trim thee, 

Wash, comb, oil and brush thee 

And in order keep thee; 

Also to my last gasp 
Stoutly to defend thee 
From the exterminating 
Barber's soap and razor. 

So in strict alliance 
We shall live together, 
Sheltering and protecting 
Until death each other. 

Of our solemn tredty 

This the protocol is. 

Keep thou thy word, gray beard. 

And I '11 truly mine keep. 

Queen's Square, BLOOMsnuRy , London; Dec. 3, 1><51. 

1 12 




Hark! 'tis the meditative hour 
When the soul feels in all their power 
Its aspirations heavenward rise 
Drawing it gently toward the skies 
And high angelic colloquies. 

Welcome! sweet hour of rest and calm, 
That bring'st the wounded spirit balm, 
That, mild as thine own pensive star, 
Stillest the breast's intestine war, 
And bidd'st the passions cease to jar. 

Let no unhallowed thought intrude 
Upon my evening solitude, 
When faith and hope with taper bright 
Scattering the darkness of the night 
Shed all around extatic light, 

Pointing to realms of bliss above. 
Regions of innocence and love. 
Where never breast shall heave a sigh, 
Where never tear shall dim the eye, 
Where none are born and none shall die; 

113 8 

Where .spirits^ that here lived in paiii 
Dragging their sordid earthly chain, 
In -entering at the narrow door 
Shall bathe in bliss for evermore 
Up6n a safe and stormless shore. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland), Febr. 9, 1855. 

Saturday clothed in plain drugget 
And with cAre and hard work worn out^ 
Happened once to meet her idle 
Sister Sunday in her satins: — 

^M 'm so glad to meet you, sister/' 
Saturday in humble tone said, 
"For I knoAV you 're tenderhearted 
And will lend a hand to help me. 

"From before daylight this morning 
I 've been washing up and scrubbing, 
Brushing, dusting, regulating. 
Till I 've not a bone but 's aching. 

"Come, do put your hdnd to, sister; 
Exercise you know is wholesome 
And a sovereign cure for ennui 
And you 're looking dull and languid." 

'^Nothing would so much delight me/' 
Answered Sunday with a simper, 
''As in any way t' oblige you, 
Or your heavy burden lighten; 

^^But I need not tell you, sister, 
How I make 't a point of conscience 
To live Always like a lady 
And with no work soil my fingers. 

^^And even were I, which I am not. 
Of myself inclined to labor, 
God's commandment is explicit: 
^My seventh child shall do no labor'." 

^^G6d's seventh child! why, that 's myself," said 
Saturday laying down her rubber; 
^^AVhat a fool I 've been to work so! 
But in future I '11 be wiser. 

^^How came you so long to insist on 't 
'Twas the first child was exempted. 
And make your six younger sisters 
Work, to keep you like a lady? 

^^Now you 've let by chance the triith out, 
It 's the seventh child is exempted — 
Take the scrubber; on your knees down; 
I '11 dress fine and pray and idle. ' 

'^Yoii had once your tiirn/' said Sunday, 
^^The seventh child once was exempted. 
And I worked just as you now do, 
I and your five elder sisters; 

lis S * 

''But you grew so proud and saiicy 
Heaven or earth could not endure it, 
And your birthright was taken from you 
And bestowed upon your betters." 

^4 remember well the robbery 
And the lies to justify it; 
And lioW; not t' expose the family, 
1 put up with 't and said nothing. 

"I remember too, my sisters, 
When they advised me t6 keep quiet, 
Prophesied you 'd soon grow prouder, 
Saucier far than ^ver I was. 

'^ ^Let her hkve it/ one and all cried; 
^Privilege was ever odious; 
Let her have it, make the most of it; 
Come, dear Saturday, with us work.' 

^'l obeyed; you took my title; 
C411ed yourself God's Holy Sabbath, 
Dressed in satin, prayed and idled, 
And grew every day more saucy, 

^^More hardhearted, vain and selfish. 
More intolerant, supercilious. 
Hypocritical, overbearing, 
Ceremonious and religious, 

^'Till at last the wh61e world hates you, 
Fears you no less thdn despises. 
Calls you in plain terms impostor, 
Foul usurper of my birthright." 

> 10 

'^Very fine talk for my lady 
D(')wager Profdni Procul 5 
Why! it 's not my likeness, sister, 
But your own you have been drawing; 

^'Faithful fr6m your memory drawing, 
As you were while you reigned mistress 
And your flatterers low before you 
Bowed and kissed the h6m of your garment. 

"Who was 't then was overbearing? 
Who was 't then was supercilious? 
Who was 't then was vain and selfish, 
Ceremonious and religious? 

"And if now you 're something wiser, 
Something more discreet and modest. 
Less encroaching, sdnctimonious, 
Pharisaical and exclusive, 

"1 'm to thank for 't, who have taught you 
That 'twasn't you your flatterers cared for. 
But to have something to flatter. 
Any idol to bow down to." 

Siich the Billingsgate the sisters 
Flung and reflung 4t each other; 
Which aimed best and hit the hardest, 
. Judge, for 1 can't, patient redder. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkby (Ireland), Dec. 25, isril. 

Well now I 'm sure I don't know why in the world it was 

put there; 
Standing up in the middle of the face like the gnomon of a 

Very much, as one would say, in the way of the passers by, 
And exposed to heat and cold, wet and dry, all the winds 

that blow. 

Don't tell me that it was for the sake of beauty it was ever 

set up there. 
Still less that it was for utility, i. e. by way of a handle, 
And as to the hints I sometimes hear that it was out of mere 

whim or vagary, 
I assure you I 'm not the man to lend an ear to insinuations 

of that sort. 

But I 11 tell you the idea that has just now flashed across 

my mind 
And which of course I hold myself at liberty to correct as 1 

improve in knowledge, 
For these are improving times, as you know, and the whole 

world 's in progress. 
And the only wonder is, that with all our advancement we 're 

so very far behind yet. 

J I (• 

Now my idea 's neither more nor less than that it was set up 

where it is simply because God 
Hadn't, or couldn't at the moment find, a more convenient 

spot to put it in; 
And I 'm further of opinion that if you or I had had the 

placing of it. 
It 's no better but a thousand times worse it would have been 

placed than now it is. 

For while I admit that it does indeed at lirst sight seem a 

little too far forward set, 

Like a camp picket or vedette upon the very fore front and 

edge of danger, 

Still there 's no denying the solidity and security of its basis, 

And that it rarely if ever happens it 's obliged to evacuate 

its position. 

Why, I ' V e seen an enemy come up to it in a towering fit of passion, 

And with his right hand clenched till it looked like a sledge- 
hammer or mason's mallet 

Strike it such a blow right in the face as you 'd swear must 

annihilate it, 

Or at least send its ghost down dolefully whimpering to (.)rcus. 

Nay, I Ve seen its best friend and nearest earthly relative 
With a giant's grasp lay hold of it, and squeeze it between 

finger and thumb. 
Till it roared with downright agony as loud as a braying ass 

or elephant, 
And yet, the moment after, it seemed not a hair the worse 

but rather refreshed by it. 

But all this is scarce worth mentioning in comparison of what 

I Ve seen it bear 
At the hands of that same natural friend ^ ally^ and protector, 
Who twenty times a day or, if the humor happened so to take him, 
A hundred times a day would in one of the dark cellars under it 

Explode all on a sudden so strong a detonating powder 
That you 'd say there never yet was iron tower or vaulted 

. granite casemate 
That wouldn't have tumbled down incontinent at the veiy first 

And yet that wondrous piece of flesh and bone seemed but 

to take delight in it. 

But, setting aside these wholly minor and secondary consi- 

What would you say of an architect who had constructed a face 

With a pair of eyes staring, one on the right side and the 

other on the left side of it, 

And yet had made no manner of provision at all for the 

support of a pair of spectacles? 

So avaunt with your idle criticisms, your good-for-nothing 

stufl" and twaddle. 
Such as one dozes over a-nights in the Quarterly just before 

one goes to bed. 
And let me have a pinch out of your canister, for I know 

it 's the genuine Lundy 
More care -easing even than Nepenthe, than Ambrosia more 

Dalkby Lodgk, Dalkey (Iueland), Dec. H>, 1854. 

1 vc 

On the day before the first day 
God was tired with doing nothing, 
And determined to rise early 
On the next day and do something. 

So upon the next day God rose 
Very early, and the light made — 
Yoii must know that until that day 
God had always lived in darkness: — 

^^Bravo! bravo! that 's a good job," 
Said God when his eye the light caught; 
'^Now I think I '11 try and make me 
A convenient place to live in." 

So upon the next day God rose 
At the dawn of light, and hetiven made, 
And from that day forward never 
Wanted a snug box to live in. 

" Well ! a little work is pleasant," 
Said God, ^^and besides it 's useful; 
What a pity I 've so long sat 
Dumping, mumping, doing nothing!" 

1 2 I 

So upon the tliird day God made 
This round Mil of land and water 
And with right thumb and forefinger 
Set it like teetotum spinning; 

Spinning twirling like teetotum^ 
Round and round about, the ball went. 
While God clapped his hands, delighted. 
And called th' angels to look at it. 

Who made th' angels? if you ask me, 
I reply: — that 's more than I know; 
For if God had, I don't doiibt but 
He 'd have put them in his catalogue. 

But no matter — some one made them, 
And they came about him flocking, 
Wondering at the sudden fit of 
ManuEcturing that had taken him: — 

^^It 's a pretty ball," they all said; 
"Do pray tell us what 's the use of it; 
Won't you make a great many of them ? 
We would like to see them trundling." 

"Wait until tomorrow," said God, 
"And I think I '11 show you something; 
This is (juite enough for one day. 
And you know I 'm but beginning." 

So about noon chi the fourth day, 
God called th' angels all about him, 
And showed them the great big ball he 'd 
Made to give light to the little one. 

I ^l■^ 

^^What!" said th' angels, "such a big ball 
Just to give light to a little one ! 
Thdt 's bad management and you know too 
You had plenty of light without it." 

"Not quite plenty/' said God snappish, 
"For the light I mdde the first day, 
Although good, was rather scanty, 
Scarce enough for me to work by. 

"And besides hoAv was it possible 

If I had not made the big ball 

To have given the little one seasons. 

Days and years and nights and mornings? 

"S5 you see there was nothing for it 
But to fix the little ball steady, 
And about it set the big one 
Topsy - tiirvying as you here see." 

"It 's the big ball we see steady. 
And the little one round it whirling," 
Said the angels, by the great light 
Dazzled, and their eyebrows shading: • — 

"None of your impertinence," said God 
Growing more vexed every moment; 
"I know that as well as you do. 
But I don't choose you should say it. 

"I have set the big ball steady 
And the little one spinning roiind it. 
But I 've told you just the opposite 
And the opposite you must swear to." 

1 2 3 


Anything you say we 11 swe4r to/' 
Said the angels humbly bowing; 
^^H4ve you Anything more to show us? 
We 're so fond of exhibitions." 


Yes/' said God, ^^what was deficient 
In the lighting of the little ball, 
With this pretty moon I Ve made up 
And these little twinkling stars here." 

'^Wasn't the big ball big enough?" said 
With simplicity the angels: — 
^^ Couldn't, without a miracle/' said God, 
"Shine at once on back and front side." 

"There you 're quite right," said the angels, 
"And we think you show your wisdom 
fn not squandering miracles on those 
Who believe your word without them. 

"But do tell us why you 've so far 
From your little ball put your little stars ; 
One would think they didn't belong to it, 
Scarce one in a thousand shines on it." 

"To be svire I could have placed them 
So much nearer," said God smiling, 
"That the little ball would have been as 
Well lit with some millions fewer; 

"But I 'd like to know of what use 
To th' omnipotent such economy — 
Can't I make a million million stars 
Quite as easily as one star?" 


''Right again/' said th' angels^ ^'tlu'i-c can 
Be no manner of doubt about it." 
''That 's all now," said God; "tomorrow 
Come again and ye shall more see." 

When the angels came the next day 
God indeed had not been idle, 
And they saw the little ball swarming 
With all kinds of living creatures. 

There they went in pairs, the creatures. 
Of all sizes, shapes and colors. 
Stalking, hopping, leaping, climbing. 
Crawling, burrowing, swimming, flying. 

Squealing, singing, roaring, grunting, 
Barking, braying, mewing, howling. 
Chuckling, gabbling, crowing, quacking. 
Cawing, croaking, buzzing, hissing. 

Such assembly there has never 
From that day down been on earth seen; 
From that day down such a concert 
There has never been on earth heard. 

For there, ramping and their maker 
Praising in their various fashions, 
Were all God's created species, 
All except the fossilized ones : 

For whose absence on that great day 
The most likely cause assigned yet, 
Is that they were quite forgotten 
And would not 2,0 uninvited. 

I 2: 

Biit let that ho as it may be. 
All til' unfossilized ones were there 
Striving which of them would noisiest 
Praise bestow upon their maker. 

"Well/' said th' angels^ when they 'd looked on 
Silently some time and listened; 
*^^Well; you surely have a strange taste; 
WhAt did you make all these queer things for?" 

"Come tomorrow and I '11 show you/' 
Said God; gleeful his hands rubbing; 
"All you 've yet seen 's a mere nothing 
To what you shall see tomorrow." 

So, when th' angels came the next day 
All tiptoe with expectation. 
And stretched necks and eyes and ears out 
Towards the new world, God said to them: — 

"There he is, my last and best work; 
There he is, the n(5ble creature; 
I told you you should see something; 
What do you say now? have I word kept?" 

"Where, where is he?" said the dngels; 
"We see nothing but the little ball 
With its big ball, moon and little stars 
And queer, yelping, capering kickshaws." 

"i don't well know what you mean by 
Kickshaws," said God scarcely quite pleased, 
"But among my creatures yonder 
Don't you see one nobler figure? 

"By his strong, round, tail-less buttocks, 
And his flj'it claws you may know him 
Even were he not so like me 
That we might pass for twin brothers." 

"Now we see him/' said the angels; 
"How is 't possible we o'erlooked him? 
He 's indeed your very image 
Only less strong and wise looking." 

"So I hope the mystery 's cledred up/' 
Said God with much selfcomplacence, 
"And you are no longer puzzled 
What I 've been about these six days." 

"Even th' Almighty/' said the angels, 
"May be proud of such chef-d'oeuvre, 
Such magnificent and crowning- 
Issue of a six days' labor." 

Here a deep sigh rent God's bosom, 
And a shade came o'er God's features: — 
"Ah," he cried, "were ye but honest 
And no traitor stood amongst ye! 

"Then indeed this were a great work, 
Then indeed I were too happy ; 
Ah ! it 's too bad, downright to() bad, 
l^ut I '11 — shdll I? yes, I '11 let you: 

"Let you disappoint and fret me. 
Let you disconcert my whole plan — 
Why of all my virtues should I 
Leave unpractised only patience? 

•'There he is, my noblest, best work: 
Take him, d() your pleasure with him. 
After all perhaps I '11 find some 
Means to patch my broken saucer. 

"Now begone! don't let me see you 
Here again till I send for you ; 
I 'm tired working, and intend to 
Rest my weary bones tomorrow." 

So God lay late on the next day 
And the whole day long did nothing 
But reflect upon his ill luck 
And the great spite of the angels. 

And he said: — "Because I Ve rested 
All this seventh day, and done nothing, 
Each seventh day shall be kept holy 
And a day of rest for ever." 

And as God said and commanded 

So it is now, and still shall be: 

All hard work done on the seventh day, 

To the first day all respect shown. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland), Jan. 21, 1855. 

1 28 

Dike Ambition lip hill toiling, 
Straining every nerve and sinew, 
Sweating, panting, taking no rest. 
Dire Ambition, listen to me. 

Highest climbers get th^e worst falls, 
On the hill -top storms blow fiercest, 
Lightning oftenest strikes the summits. 
Dire Ambition, tiirn and come down. 

In the valley here it 's sheltered. 

Easy, s4fe and .sure and pleasant; 

On those steep heights there 's scarce footing, 

I grow dizzy to look at thee. 

Higher still thou climb'st and higher, 
Lendest no ear, look'et not once down; 
Almost in the clouds I see thee. 
Far above the reach of my words. 

Fare thee well then — 6nly fall not — 
And as happy be above there, 
If thou canst, as I below here 
In the calm, sequestered valley. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland), April 4, 1855. 



Ivy leaf^ come; I will praise thee. 
Just because thou 'rt unpretending 
And hast seldom had the fortune 
To be praised as thou deservest. 

Summer's vdriegdted, gay leaves, 
Frightened at th' approach of winter, 
Long ago have fled and left me 
To thy never- failing shelter. 

On this bleak November morning 
in thou peepest at my window 
With as kindly, friendly greeting 
As though we were still in July. 

Yesterday I asked the redbreast 
That from yonder bare spray carols: - 
"Where, my pretty serenader. 
On these cold nights findest shelter?" 

"In the ivy," answered Robin, 
"Underneath your bedroom window. 
Nestling cozy, I care little 
F(^r the bledk nights of November." 

1 3 

Conquering Bacchus , from the fndies 
Driving in triumphal chariot, 
Twined his Thyrsus, crowned his temples, 
With thy green branch and black berries. 

From that ddy down to the present, 
Round the wine cup and the tankard 
Wind harmoniously together 
Clustering grape, and ivy branches. 

Clearer, sweeter far the honey 
I 've each morning 4t my breakfast 
Thdn the honey the Athenians 
Brought from Hybla and Hymettus ; 

Why? because all the long summer 
My bees riot in thy blossoms, 
And who ever hedrd of ivy 
On Mount Hybla 6r Hymettus? 

When I 'm dead and o'er my ashes 
Rises the cold marble column, 
Shroud it, ivy, with thy gi'een leaves ; 
All too late the paltry tribute. 

Walking from Fontaine l'Eveque to Basecles, Hainault (Belgium); 
Nov. 12—1.3, 1854. 

131 9* 

Why paint De4tli the king of terrors? 
Who so quiet; calm and peaceful? 
Who so humble? who so lovely? 
Who a kinder friend to man is? 

Why hung round with black the chamber? 
Why those sad looks ^ sighs and s6bbings? 
Tosses on this couch a fever? 
Heaves this breast with anxious throbbings? 

On these cheeks there glows no anger, 
On these pale lips writhes no anguish; 
Care this brow no longer wrinkles. 
From these lids no tears are starting; 

Foolish mourners, for yourselves weep, 
Who have still with Life to struggle, 
Life the treacherous, unrelenting, 
Cruel king of pains and terrors. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); April 2, 1855. 

1 8-^ 

TO * * * 

iHERB was a time when to our view 
This dull old world looked fresh and new, 
And you loved me and I loved you, 
There was a time. 

There was a time when young and gay 
We frolicked through the livelong day, 
And all our whole year was one May, 
There was a time. 

There was a time we did not dream 
That things are other than they seem 
And with delusive lustre gleam, 
There was a time. 

There was a time we had not yet 
Learned to fume and cark and fret 
And thankless riches hardly get. 
There was a time. 

There was a time — but it is past; 
The child 's become a man at last. 
And age and death are coming fast, 
There was a time. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); May 7, 1855. 


IYRANT; I '11 have my rights;" I once heard say 
A village cur to a neighbouring farmer's mastiff: 
"One half that bone exact I claim as mine^ 
For in God's sight all kinds of dogs are equal; 
He made us all, we 're all alike his children." 
'^Take it/' replied the mastiff, "with that strength 
Equal to mine, which that impartial God 
No doiibt has given thee; I impugn thy right not." 
Growling he said, and Cur away sneaked prudent, 
And had that night gone supperless to bed, 
Had not kind Providence brought by chance that way 
My lady's pug with bone stolen from the larder; 
Which Cur, an adept now in equity. 
With sudden snatch to appropriate not demurring. 
Bore off and at the cabin door contented gnawed. 
The livelong evening, praising God and saying: — 
"Each has his own; the mastiff his, I mine; 
Had God intended Pug to have kept his bone 
There 's ncSt a doubt he would have made him stronger." 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalk'ey (Ireland); April 1, 1855. 

Do good to your friend and he '11 do good to yoii, 
Perhaps, and if not inconvenient to him; 
But if you 'd have him really like and love you 
You must in all things swear to his opinion. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); May 18, 1855. 



Let the law take its course/' the Koman said, 
Sitting in judgment; and the lictors seized 
Forthwith the two young men, the judge's sons, 
And stripped them to the waist and bound and flogged. 
In vain turned towards the judgment- seat the youths' 
Wild eyes, imploring; the uplifted ax 
Severed first one and then the other's head. 
Proud to have executed Roman justice 
Even on his own rebellious sons, the judge 
Unblenched descended from the judgment- seat; 
Home to his desolate house returned, the sire 
In secret wept his disobedient children. 
Such were the wondrous men that made Rome Rome. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); April 12, 1855. 

Draw back from the mirror; your image recedes, 
And at last disappears in the infinite distance; 
Approach; and, behold! from the depths of the mirror 
A still brightening image comes forward to meet you: 
So, sad Mcm'ry's eye follows the flight of the past; 
So, brightening, to Hope's eye, approaches the future. 

Dalkkv Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); April 2, 1855. 




OELDOM lived dog or man more peaceful life. 
More free from envy, bitterness , and strife; 
Seldom died dog or man more placid death, 
Or struggled less in yielding up the breath; 
Seldom left dog or man a friend behind 
More true. Rap, than thy mistress or more kind. 
So peaceful I would live, so placid die. 
And, dying, hear the same survivor sigh. 
And dead, not far off in the earth be laid. 
Under th' ancestral elm and yew-tree shade. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; Dec. 17, 1854. 


UNDERNEATH this mouldcring heap 

Lies some poor clay 
That once like thee could laugh and weep, 

And had its day. 

if by the world thou art despised, 

A while here stay; 
If pampered by the world and prized. 

Away ! away ! 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; May 6, 1855. 




Detweent Nose and Eyes a. strange contest aro«e, 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; 

The point in dispute was^ as all the world knows^ 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

So Tongue was the lawyer^ and argued the cause 

With a great deal of skill , and a wig full of leai'ning ; 

While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 

* In Mr. Cowper's report of this celebrated case we look in vain for 
his accustomed impartiality, his chaa*acteristic love of ti-uth and justice. 
Not only has he garbled the pleadings by a total omission of the plea of 
the eyes, but even falsified the record itself by the substitution of an 
absurd and unjust decision of the court for the rational and equitable" 
compromise by which the case was actually closed, and the proceedings 
brought to a termination satisfactory to both parties. To this, the sole 
dereliction of the straightforwai-d path with which he has ever been charged, 
Mr. Cowper was no doubt seduced by hi-s partiality for the nose, Mr. Cowper, 
as it i& well known , having always been accustomed to wear his spectacles 


;,In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear 

And your Lordship/' he said, "will undoubtedly lind 

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear; 
Which amounts to possession time out of mind." 

Then holding the spectacles up to the court: — 

"Your Lordship observes they are made with a straddle 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is : in short, 
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

"xigain would your Lordship a moment suppose 

('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) 

That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 

Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? 

"On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn. 

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose 
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them." 

Having thus made a case on behalf of the Nose 
No less valid in law than in equity strong, 

Tongue changed sides and with arguments weighty as blows 
Showed the spectacles only to Eyes could belong: — 

upon his nose. In order to guard my report against all tinge of a similar 
predilection for the eyes (a predilection of which I acknowledge I cannot 
wholly divest myself, the eyes in my case having always had the use of 
the spectacles), I have taken the precaution not to draw my account of the 
arguments of Counsel on behalf of the nose from the same source from 
which I have drawn my account of the plea of the eyes and of the final 
compromise, viz. the books of the Court of Uncommon Pleas, the court in 
which the case was tried and in which I have been so fortunate as to find 
a complete record of it, but to adopt Nose's arguments verbatim and 
literatim from the report of Nose's best friend, Mr. Cowper himself. 

1 36 

"My Lord, spectacles being, as we all know, a pair, 
And Eyes a pair also, while Nose is but one, 

That it 's Eyes and not Nose that should spectacles wear 
Is as plain and as clear as at noonday the sun. 

"And as for the ownership Nose claimed just now 
On the ground of his fitting exactly the straddle, 

Why, my Lord, allow that, and you can't but allow 

That the horse owns by right both the rider and saddle." 

Here the court, interrupting, proposed compromise — 

Between next-door neighbours such strife 's a disgrace — 

And Nose waived his claim, on condition that Eyes 

Should from thenceforth let spectacles lie in their case. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); Febr. 11, 1855. 

"Epiciiri dc grege porcum." 

IHERE 's nothing I so much admire 
As a full glass and roaring fire. 
Unless it be cow-heel or tripe. 
Or well replenished meerschaum pipe — 
Stay, darling Meg, I did but jest; 
Of all God's gifts thou art the best. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; Jan. 25, 1855. 


rROM his shroud the dead man peeping 
Saw the mourners round him weeping, 
Heard such sobs and sighs and groans 
!Might have melted hearts of stones. 

Not a word the dead man said. 
But the thought came into his head: 
To that whining blubbering pack 
God keep me from going back. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; April 3. 1S55. 

W HAT benelicent Jove was 't, or Biiddh or Osiris 
Or Saturn or Satan, who^ not for their own good 
But man's use, created poor birds, beasts and fishes; 
And his protege, more to enrich and exalt him. 
Into two halves divided and to the one half 
Gave the other for servant and bondslave for ever? 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (I^elaxd); April 13, 1S55. 




Trom my bedroom, in my gown, 
Every morn when I come down, 
Tray says to me with his tail: — 
^^Hope I see you fresh and hale." 

At my breakfast when I sit 
Munching slowly bit by bit, 
Tray reminds me with his paw 
He too has a tooth and jaw. 

When I take my hat and stick, 
Tray perceives the motion quick 
And across the parlour floor 
Scampers joyful to the door. 

When I walk along the street 

Stopping every friend I meet 

With: — ^^Good morning! how do you d6?" 

Tray's nose asks each: — ^^Who are yoii?" 

To Belinda's when I come. 
Tray snuffs round and round the room. 
Then lies down beside my chair, 
Kn6ws I '11 stay a long while there. 

When I rise to go away 
From Belinda's, and call Tray, 
Tray comes sIoAvly, knowing well 
i Ve to sdy a long farewell. 

Down the street toward my hall - door 
When I turn my face once more, 
Who so joyful then as Tray? 
Try if you can mdke him stay. 

To my door got, if bell -ring 
Does not quickly some one bring, 
You would pity Tray's hard case, 
Drooping tail and rueful face. 

Opened when the door at last, 
Tray bolts maid and master past. 
And, ere well hung lip my hat. 
On the hearthrug outstretched flat 

Lies with muzzle on the ground. 
And half closed eye, watching round. 
While preparatives duly made — 
Criimbcloth spread and table laid — 

Herald near approaching Three, 
Hour of weight to Tray and me ; 
Weighty hour to me and Tray, 
Turning-point of the whole day. 

Such our forenoons; would you know 

If our afternoons pass so. 

Worse or better; I can't say 

There 's much difference — is there, Tray? 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); April 8, 1855. 


No more questions, good friend^ no more questions , I pray; 

I 'd be chooser myself what to say or not say ; 

With your ^Who?' ^Which?' and ^What?' ^How?' ^When?' 

^Wherefore?' and 'Why?' 
You but shut my heart closer^ my tongue tighter tie; 
Nay, you 've n() one to blame but yourself, if with lying 
And quibbling and shuffling I pay back your prying. 
So deal with me fairly and give quid pro quo 
And your own thoughts first tell me, if my thoughts you 'd know. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; March 30, 1855. 

lis the little boy lashing his top in the coiirt; 
With all his whole heart he 's intent on his sport. 
And as his top merrily spins round and round. 
In the world where 's a happier soul to be found? 

I '11 go down to the court and the whole livelong day 
At whip -my -top there with that happy boy play; 
Give me top and lash here, and let him take who will 
My grown man's wealth, honors, strength, wisdom, and skill. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; May 6, 1855. 


As in Tibur's pleasant villa 
Strolled Mecenas once with Horace 
''What can be the reason, poet/' 
Said Mecenas cavalierly, 

"That the adjective mnst always 
To the noiin be so obsequious; 
Follow all its whims and humors, 
Trot beside ii like a spaniel?" 

'T don't know, heard never reason," 
Answered Horace, his head shaking. 
''What! not know?" replied Mecenas 
"I thought poets knew all such things." 

"Now I recollect," said Horace 
With an arch smile, "my schoolmaster 
Used to say that noiin was patron. 
Adjective, poor devil! poet." 

Walking from Zell to Simmern, Rhenish Prussia; July 9, 1855. 

I 44 

IWAS on the First of January early in the morning 
I paid my Love a visit^ and a happy new year wished her; 
She gave me her right hand and said she was glad to see me — 
Ah! little thought I then^ she was entering on her last year. 

'Twas on the First of February, a cold and snowy morning, 
I paid my Love a visit and asked her was she quite well: — 
^^I 've got a little coiigh/' said she, "but I don't think any- 
thing of it; 
Coughs and colds are going, and I hope I '11 soon be better." 

'Twas 6n the First of March and a bitter wind was bl6winff: 
I paid my Love a visit, and asked her was she better: — 
"I 'm not much better yet," said she, "and the cough is 

sticking to me, 
But when the weather softens I don't doubt I '11 be better." 

'Twas on the First of April when a blink of sun was gleaming 
Between two chilly showers, I paid my Love a visit; 
When she saw me her eye brightened and she said she 'd 

soon be finely, 
But I thought she didn't look well and I had a sad foreboding. 

145 10 

'Twas on delicious MAy-day I paid my Love a visit; 

The sky was clear, the air was soft, the birds were gaily 

But my Love her pallid cheek upon her hand was leaning, 
And I didn't ask her how she was , for I saw it but too cledrly. 

'Twas on the First of leAfy June I paid my Love a visit; 
When she saw me from the window she waved her hand to 

greet me. 
And I entered the house joyful, thinking she was surely better. 
But when I came in near her I saw how she was wasting. 

On the First of warm July I paid my Love a visit; 

She was chilly cold and trembling, with her shawl wrapt 

close about her. 
For the fever fit was on her, and insidious Hectic busy 
Sapping poor besieged Life's weak and tottering fortress. 

Upon the First of August I paid my Love a visit; 
She was laid upon the sofa, and her hand was dry and burning; 
She bade me kindly welcome, and I sat down there beside her. 
But rose and came away straight, for she talked to me of dying. 

Upon September First I paid my Love a visit; 

She raised her head upon the pillow and looked out on the 

reapers: — 
'^How pleasant it 's out there," said she, ^^and yet I 'm still 

growing weaker. 
And perhaps" — but there she stopped short, for she heard 

me sobbing. 


Upon October First I paid my Love a visit; 

Her cheeks were sunk and pale, with a red spot in the middle: — 

^^Ah!" said she, ^^the winter 's near, for the leaves are falling, 

falling — 

But you '11 think of me in spring when you hear the black- 
bird whistle." 

Upon November First I paid my Love a visit; 

It was a lowering morning and the rain was drizzling dreary : 

"It will be brighter by and by," said I, between my fingers 

Her emaciated wrist — "Yes, yes," said she, "in heaven." 

Upon December First when I paid my Love a visit 

I met, 'twas for the first time, no stretched -out hand, no 

For she lay there in her shroud wrapt, more lovely fair than 

And if never more to love me, pain to suffer never. 

Upon this First of January, desolate and lonely 
I sit here, in the churchyard, watching by my Love's grave; 
And if I Aveep, it 's not for her, for she 's safe from all sorrow, 
But for myself behind her left so desolate and lonely. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 14, 1855. 

147 10=* 

lEGE son 's a poor, wretched; unfortunate creature. 
With a name no less wretched: I-Would-if-I- Could; 
But the father 's rich, glorious and happy and mighty 
And his terrible name is I- Could -if -I- Would. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 12, 1855. 

You don't like my writings, won't read them nor biiy them; 
Then do me the favor at least, to decry them; 
Where the praise of good judges is hard to be had. 
The next best thing to it 's the blame of the bad. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 8, 1855. 

"I BELIEVE it," said Faith, ^^though I know it 's a flat 
Contradiction, and breach of supreme Nature's laws. 
For I saw it and heard it and felt it and smelt it. 
And no one was wicked enough to deceive me. 
And seeing and hearing and feeling and smelling 
Are surer than even supreme Nature's laws. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dai.key, April 1, 1855. 


Even the Lovely must die" * — To be sure, Mr. poet, 
Even tlie Lovely must die ; do you think we don't know it ? 
Yet bad as the case is — and who doubts it 's bad? — 
That the Ugly should not die were something more sad. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, May 27, 1855. 

Main Force with saw, hatchet and strong rope achieved, 
Much sweating, the fall of the stout -timbered cedar; 
But Cunning about the root dug unperceived. 
And flat with the first breath of wind fell the cedar. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 2, 1855. 

In the height of his glory said Cesar to Cassius: — 
"Mankind will talk of me for ever with wonder." 
"To be sure, mighty Cesar," said Cassius, "mankind will 
Of thee and thy great deeds talk ever with wonder; 
But the wonder of Avonders will still be that Cesar, 
Magnanimous Cesar, so cared to be talked of." 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 1, 1855. 

* Auch das Schone muss sterben. Schiller. 


Sleep and Waking once a strife had: 
Which was most by Providence favored; 
And with lawyerlike acumen 
Thus their separate cases argued: — 

"I 'm the favorite/' first said Waking, 
"For the whole wide world 's for me made, 
Earth, sun, moon, and all the little stars, 
Not to speak of lamp and gas light." 

'^Wretched Waking," said Sleep listless, 
"Take thy gimcracks and my pity. 
Thou that must keep always hammering 
At some fiddle faddle nonsense. 

"Take thy gimcracks — pleasure, profit. 
Science, learning — make much of them; 
Add if it please thee labor, ennui. 
Sorrow, pain and thirst and hunger. 

"Here at ease upon this bench stretched 
For thy whole world I no straw care. 
Or, if so be the whim take me. 
Have it in my dreams for nothing; 


"In my dreams have pleasures ^ riches, 
Wisdom, fame, and power and knowledge, 
Double, triple, hundredfold more 
Than e'er fell to thy lot, Waking. 

"I take wing and through the air fly. 
Or with fins glide through the water, 
Or turn patriot and my fingers 
Raddle with the blood of Cesar, 

"Yet no risk run; mine not thine are 
Heaven and earth, time past and present — 
Good bye. Waking; what need more words? 
Thee thy work calls, me siesta." 

Scarce had Sleep the last word uttered. 
Up came Nightmare, hideous grinning. 
And about Sleep's neck a noose threw 
And began with main force pulling. 

"Save me, save me," cried Sleep half choked — 
"Who 's God's favorite now?" said Waking 
As he cut the noose and saved Sleep 
And drove off the grinning monster. 

Stromberg, Khenish Prussia, July 11, 1855. 


While there 's one drop in the bottle 
This life 's still a life of pleasure, 
Full of promise still the future ; 
Let the last drop leave the bottle 
And the day grows dark and heavy; 
There will be a storm tomorrow. 

Pfeddersheim in the Palatinate, July 15, 1855. 

If rightly on my theme I think, 
There are five reasons why men drink: 
Good wine; a friend; because I 'm dry; 
Or lest I should be, by and by; 
Or any other reason why." 

If rightly on my theme I think, 
There 's but one reason why men drink ; 
And that one reason is, I think — 
Why, just because men like to drink. 

Heidelberg, July 21, 1855. 


He 's dead these long ages, and all his bones mouldered^ 
And scattered his diist to the points of the compass. 
But we still have and will have for ever among us 
The heart of the Poet embalmed in his verse. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 10, 1855. 

IHAT I 'm much praised by men of little sense 
Offends me not; I know it 's mere pretence, 
The hollow echo of what, every day, 
They hear men of a better judgment say. 

TouRNAY (Belgium), Nov. 16, 1854. 

Pagan, forsake your Gods," the Christian cries, 
"And worship mine; your Gods are dirt and lies." 
"Christian," replies the Pagan, "honor 's due 
Even to your Gods; to each his God is true." 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, March 31, 1855. 



received from a reviewer to whom the author, intending to 

send the ms. of his six photooraphs of the heroic times for 

review; had by mistake sent, instead of it; a ms. of 

Milton's paradise regained. 

With all the care and attention permitted by my multitudinous 

And harassing; yet never upon any account to be neglected, 


I have read over, verse by verse, from near about the begin- 
ning to the very end, 

The poem which, some thirteen or fourteen months ago, you 

did me the honor to enclose me; 

And as I feel for literature in general and especially for literary 


A regard which I make bold to flatter myself is something 

more than merely professional, 

In returning you your work I venture to make these few 

hurried observations : 

And first, I 'm so far from being of opinion that the work 's 

wholly devoid of merit 

That I think I can discern here and there an odd half line 

or line in it. 

Which even Lord Byron himself — for since Lord Byron 

became popular, 


Reviewers' opinions concerning that truly great man have under- 
gone^ as you know, a most remarkable change — 

I think I can discern, I say, here and there in your work 
an odd half line or odd line 

Which even the greatest poet of modern times need not have 
been ashamed of. 

And the whole scope and tenor of your work, on whichever 
side or in whatever light I examine it, 

Whether religiously, esthetically, philosophically, morally or 
simply poetically, 

Give me great ground to hope — and I assure you I feel 
unfeigned satisfaction in expressing the hope — 

That, in process of time, and supposing your disposition 
amenable to advice and correction, 

You may by dint of study and perseverance acquire sufficient 
poetical skill 

To entitle you to a place somewhere or other among respectable 
English poets. 

And now I know I may count upon your good sense and 

candor to excuse me 
If I add to this, you '11 do me the justice to allow, no illiberal 

praise of your performance, 
Some few honest words of dispraise, wrung from me by the 

necessity of the case: 
Your style, for I will not mince the matter, seems to me very 

often to be 
A little too Bombastes Furioso, or, small things to compare 

with great, a little too Miltonic; 
Its grandiloquence not sufficiently softened down by that 

copious admixture of commonplace 
Which renders Bab Macaulay, James Montgomery and Mrs. 

Hemans so delightful; 


Whilst on the other hand it exhibits ^ but too often alas! the 

directly opposite and worse fault 
Of nude and barren simplicity^ absence not of adornment 

alone but even of decent dress. 
I '11 not worry you with a host of examples; to a man of 

your sense one 's as good as a thousand; 
^^Ex uno disce omnes/' as Eneas said^ wishing to save Dido 

time and trouble ; 
The very last line of your poem , the summing up of your 

whole work^ 
Where, if anywhere, there should be dignity and emphasis, 

something to make an impression 
And ring in the ear of the reader after he has laid down 

the book 
And be quoted by him to his children and children's children 

on his deathbed, 
As an honored ancestor of mine, one of my predecessors in 

this very reviewer's chair. 
Is said to have died with — no, not with the concluding 

verse of Homer's Iliad on his lips, 
For Homer has by some fatality concluded his great poem 

much after your meagre fashion — 
But with the magnificent couplet on his lips, which the judicious 

translator substitutes for the lame Homeric ending : 

"Such honors Ilium to her hero paid, 
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade." 

The very last line of your work, I say, the peroration of 

your poem. 
So far from presenting us, like this fine verse, with something 

full and round and swelling 
For ear and memory to take hold of and keep twirling about, 

barrel - organ - wise. 
That is to say when ear and memory have, as they often 

have, nothing better to do, 

1 5 e 

Hasn't even sufficient pith in it for an indifferent prose period^ 
Exhibits such a deficiency of thew and sinew, not to say of 

soul and ethereal spirit^ 
Such a woful dearth of rough stuff and raw material^ not to 

say of finish and top dressing, 
That the reader cares but little either to catch a hold or keep 

a hold of it; 
And it drops from between the antennae of his disappointed 

Pretty much in the same way as a knotless thread from be- 
tween a housewife's fingers. 
And yet when I consider how well adapted your ^^Home to 

his mother's house , private^ returned" is 
To take off the edge of the reading appetite ^ and with what 

right good will 
After reading this verse one lays down the book without 

wishing it were longer^ 
I can't help correcting my first judgment and sayings with a 

smile, to myself: 
^^Well; after all, that finale 's less injudicious than appears 

at first sight." 
And now I have only to beg your kind excuse for the freedom 

of the observations 
• Which in my double capacity of friend of literature and 

literary men. 
And clerk of the literary market, bound to protect the public 
Against unsound, unwholesome or fraudulently made-up intel- 
lectual food, 
I have felt it my duty to make on your, to me at least, very 

new and original work, 
A work which, crude and imperfect as it is and full of marks 

of a beginner's hand, 
Affords to the practised critic's eye indubitable evidences of 

a latent power 


Sure to break forth as soon as the favorable opportunity 

presents itself 
And astonish the world perhaps with a second — I was 

going to say Don Juan, 
But; as I hate hyperbole and love to be within the mark, 
I '11 say — with a second Thalaba or Antient Mariner or Ex- 

cursion ; 

Glorious consummation! which the kind Fates have, no doubt, 

in reserve for you 
If in the meantime you 're content to live upon hope, and 

don't too much economize midnight oil. 

[Heidelberg, July 26, 1855.] 

OBEY;" said Majority once to Minority, 
"To be sure," said Minority, "for thou 'rt the strongest." 
"Not because I the strongest am," answered Majority, 
"But because I 'm the wisest, it 's thine to obey." 
"Right again," said Minority hiding a sly smile, 
"Wise men always were numerous, fools always few." 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 1, 1855. 

Beware how you attempt the world to cheat, 
Lest yourself suffer by your own deceit: 
You cheat the w6rld; back from the world to you 
Returns your lie and you believe it true. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 9, 1855. 


See before thee/' said Hope, "where the pleasant light 

More bright every moment, disperses the darkness." 
But Fear cried: — "Beware! for the light but looks brighter 
Because, on all sides round, the darkness so deepens." 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 1, 1855. 

With pdllld n^^ quivering and fiery eye flashing, 
Wrath rushed on his victim and brandished the knife; 
But Pity with noiseless step stole up behind him 
And wrenched the blade from him and smiled in his face. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey, April 1, 1855. 

Past Time 's dead and gone, and buried, and the requiem 

sung over her; 

Future Time 's not born yet, and who knoAvs how ligly she 

may be? 

So give me a kiss, sweet Pr]£sent, and let 's happy be together — 

6ne, two, three, and begin again — thou 'rt the girl for my 


Heidelberg, July 25, 1855. 



iHE king of Denmark 's murdered by his brother; 

The brother dons his crown ^ marries his widow; 

No one suspects the deed; till at deep midnight 

The ghost; in suit complete of burnished steel. 

From purgatory comes and fires sulphureous 

To tell his son, young Hamlet , the whole story. 

And rouse his youthful blood to similar deed. 

The prince falls into a mighty, towering passion, 

And hates mankind, and wishes he was dead. 

And damns his uncle, and will surely kill him. 

Not at his prayers, for not to heaven he 'd send him. 

But in the midst of some unfinished lust 

Fall on him and direct to hell despatch him. 

Slow on the hot resolve follows the deed 

Limping, for wisely thus the youth bethinks him : — 

'^How, if my wicked uncle kill me first. 

Me ere I him? where then were my revenge, 

The credit and the glory of this deed. 

The duty to my parent and my parent's 

Unhappy ghost, my piety toward heaven, 

The example to the world, and to my mother 

The lash of scorpions, wielded by her son? 

For i 've no son to whom if I were murdered 

My ghost might come to hie him on to murder 

My murderer; and if I had such son. 

How can I know he would believe my ghost? 

Which gives me r(3om to think: what if this ghost 

I saw last night were not my father's ghost, 

But some malignant spirit sent from hell 


With lies to tempt me to my uncle's murder. 

So charilj; good Hamlet; softly tread; 

Test the ghost's tale, and take care of thy head. 

And so most careful cautious of his head 

Hamlet goes mad, for kings suspect not madmen, 

And many a wise and many a mad thing says, 

Wise at this moment, raving mad the next; 

And, lighting by good fortune on a pack 

Of strolling players, sets about to teach them 

With such consummate skill their proper art 

That you are tempted to accuse dame Nature 

Of having by some blunder made a king's son, 

When she had taken in hand to make a player. 

Playwriter, next, and manager become, 

The versatile youth into his players' play 

Intercalates the scene of his father's murder. 

The uncle blenches; the ghost's credit 's stamped; 

But, lack a day! the unlucky birdcatcher, 

Jiist as he thinks he has but to bag his bird, 

Falls into his own springe and is bagged himself. 

And off to England a la Bellerophon packed; 

But not before in one of his feigned fits 

He has killed his truelove's, sweet Ophelias, father. 

Taking him for the king, and her chaste ear, 

His own Ophelia's innocent, chaste ear. 

With ribaldry polluted and audacious, 

Counterfeit madness, till he drives her mad, 

And in a pond, poor soul! she drowns herself) 

Singing lorn ditties, and one true heart adds 

To the long count of true hearts cracked by love. 

Meantime not idly in his cabin chewing 
The tedium of his voyage sits young Hamlet, 

161 11 

But, seizing occupation pat at hand, 
The seal breaks of his uncle's missives — reads, 
And to the deep consigns, his own death-warrant, 
And with a ready, fair, and clerklike hand, 
For he 's a clerk too, writes out the death-warrant 
Of his escort, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern ; 
Forges the king's sign manual, and affixes 
The royal seal; and, having scarce taken time 
To palm upon his escort the forged packet, 
Jumps into a boarding pirate and is carried 
Solus to Denmark back; bidding God speed 
And safe return home, to the two brave youths, 
The interesting Danish Siamese twins, 
Good Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern, 
Who, holding on their voyage, and delivering 
To England's majesty the fraternal missives, 
By England's majesty have their heads instanter 
And without further ceremony chopped off — 
Hurrah for England! more power to thee, Hamlet! 

The first act of our story with a ghost, 

A grisly ghost, began; come with me now. 

Kind reader, that is if thou 'rt not afraid, 

into a churchyard where good Christians lie 

Waiting the final trump to rise to glory. 

Here in his splenetic mood arrives young Hamlet, 

And standing on the edge of the deep grave 

That 's waiting for his injured, sweet Ophelia, 

Begins to crack jokes with the base grave-diggers. 

Make puns, say witty things, and moralize 

At the expense of frail humanity's relics, 

Till the corpse conies ; then down into the grave 

Leaps in the desperation of his sorrow. 

And, collared on the coflin by the brother, 


Blusters and tugs and spouts and wrestles hard 
Till the crowd come between and part the mourners. 

Adjourn we now to royal palace -hall, 

And gay assembly met to adjudge the prize 

To him who best knows how to wield the small sword, 

Ophelia's brother, practised well in France, 

Or our dear nephew, all -accomplished Hamlet. 

Look sharp now to thyself, thou that wouldst kill 

With thine own hand thine uncle; for there 's poison 

Upon thine adversary's rapier point; 

And if, victorious, thou escape the point, 

A poisoned chalice stands by to refresh thee. 

But stay — what 's this already? in the name 

Of heaven, and of the ghost and thy revenge. 

Thy wisdom and thy mumming and thy madness. 

The bloody arras, sweet Ophelia's pond. 

And the two heads of thy once College friends, 

Lopped off instead of thine by courteous England, 

What 's this I see already? not thine uncle's 

But thine own blood upon a poisoned rapier 

And streaming down tl^y doublet: make haste, Hamlet; 

And there thy mother drinks death from the cup 

For thee no longer necessary, who 

Hast but five minutes' life — make haste, and wrest 

Out of thy murderer's hand the poisoned point. 

And turn it on him ; bravo ! now thine uncle ; 

Bravo again! 'twere pity thou 'dst forgot him. 

And now die happy; thou 'st at last achieved 
This iftost magnanimous, meritorious deed; 
And though, plain truth to tell, a little slowly, 
And somewhat in the manner of a thing 
A while forgotten then remembered sudden, 

163 11* 

Yet with so little risk to thine own bones, 

Being thyself already in those clutches 

Which from all further earthly harm protect, 

I own thou 'st put me into a sort of puzzle 

Which crown first to award thee ; of hot valor, 

Or of hot valor's base antipodes, 

Sneaking discretion; I '11 e'en home and sleep on 't. 

Meanwhile, inexplicable, unintelligible 

Compound of incongruities , Good night. 

Dai.key Lodge, Dalkey (Ireland); April 28, 1855. 


Brave, courteous, handsome, clever, gallant Romeo 

With all his heart and soul loves Rosaline; 

She is the polestar of his longing eyes. 

The haven of his hopes and aspirations, 

His dream by day, his vision all the night. 

The book in which he reads perpetually 

The loveliness and excellence of woman. 

Being fond of pleasure this same Romeo goes ^ 

A -masking to the house of Capulet, V 

Where for a Montague to be seen is death, " 

So hot the feud between the two old races. 
And falls slapdash o'er head and ears in love 
With fourteen-year-old Juliet, the host's daughter, 
Wh6 with like passionate suddenness on him 
Dodts on the instant, seeing behind his visor 
The properest, fairest, and discreetest man. 

1 64 

Not in Verona only^ but the world, 
And kicks against the chosen of her parents, 
The County Paris, will have none but Romeo, 
And Romeo must and will have; dutiful child! 
And for fourteen of most miraculous wisdom! 
And nothing headstrong! only will be married 
Off hand to the acquaintance of five minutes, 
The enemy of her house, the pledged to another; 
Modest withal and chaste! though a proficient 
In filthy language, and right roundly rating. 
Even on her wedding day, the slow approach 
Of closely curtained, "love -performing" night. 

But sour is still near sweet, and rain near sunshine. 
Sorrow near pleasure, near the rose a thorn. 
And out of this same merry masking comes 
Not love alone but fierce and deadly quarrel : 
Tybalt, the fair one's cousin, spies behind 
The reveller's mask not Cupid's laughing eyes 
But the curled moustache of a Montague, 
And, taking fire, comes to a brawling match 
And rapier thrusts with devil-may-care Mercutio, 
And makes short work of him, and in requital 
Is himself made short work of by hot Romeo, 
Who forthwith must to banishment in Mantua, 
Far from Verona, far from love and Juliet. 

Meantime the parents, ignorant that their child 

Is theirs no longer, and that among Christ's 

Ostensible ministers there has one been found 

To affix Christ's signet to the stolen compact, 

Press upon Romeo's wedded wife Count Paris, 

And fix tomorrow for the wedding day; 

Miss pouts, and hangs her head: is quite too young, 


Too innocent; too tender yet for marriage^ 

And will not till she 's forced; would rather die, 

Take poison, stab herself, do anything 

A high souled girl of fourteen dare to do 

The truth to hide and the first crime to double. 

Is there no help, no help in the wide world 

For maid so hardly used — for wedded wife? 

Aye to be sure there is, while there 's a priest; 

That same friar Laurence knows an herb of power 

To impart for two days death's cold, pallid semblance 

Trackless upon the third day disappearing 

Before returning health and bloom and vigor. 

This herb drinks Juliet, and the wretched parents 

And County Paris on his wedding day 

Greet not a bride and daughter but a corpse, 

Which the next night with tears and sad array 

They lay in the tomb of all the Capulets. 

The next night after, with sweet smelling flowers 

To deck his bride's untimely grave, comes Paris 

And there falls foul of — whom? the ghost of Tybalt? 

No, but the banished Montague that made 

Tybalt a ghost — the banished Romeo prowling 

At midnight round the tomb of Capulet — 

And draws upon his enemy and falls 

And dying begs a grave beside his bride. 

Now if thou 'dst know what business in Verona, 

What business at the tomb of Capulet, 

Had Romeo, when he should have been a-bed 

And snug asleep in banishment at Mantua, 

Please ask friar Laurence didn't he send for him 

To come and from her temporary tomb. 

Her parents and Verona and Count Paris, 

Bear in his arms away his wedded Wife. 


"Aye, that I did," the holy friar will answer, 

"And had agreed with wrenching iron there 

Myself to meet him, and a second time 

Consign the Capulet's child to the Montague." 

And true the answer of the holy friar, 

But not comes Romeo therefore, not to snatch 

A living Capulet out of Capulet's tomb, 

But to entomb there a dead Montague, 

Namely himself; for which be these two reasons : 

First the miscarriage of the friar's true message, 

To come post haste to unbury living Juliet; 

And next the carriage by eye-witnesses 

Of the friar's lie, that on her wedding night 

Juliet was laid a stiffened corpse beside 

Her cousin Tybalt in the Capulets' tomb. 

Therefore comes Romeo, for in the name of love 

And sober sense, and piety toward heaven. 

And fortitude and magnanimity 

And common prudence, how could Romeo live, 

Juliet being dead, his five minutes' acquaintance, 

And, counting -in the two days she is dead, 

Now nearly three whole days his wedded wife? 

How could he live? and if he killed himself 

In Mantua there, how was the world to know 

'Twas all for Juliet's love he killed himself? 

So Romeo, being in earnest, buys real poison, 

And being in haste moreover, hires post horses, 

And that same night, first having as we have seen 

Despatched poor Paris, dies Felo de se 

And kisses with his dying lips dead Juliet, 

Who, the next instant opening such bright eyes 

As make the whole tomb look like a lighthouse lantern, 

And seeing, upon 6n« side, her dead husband, 

And on the other, her dead bridegroom lying. 


And not far off her cousin dead and rotting^ 
Thinks 'twere not far amiss she too should die 
Were 't but for the sake of such good company, 
And being besides in so convenient place, 
And draws out of the sheath her husband's dagger 
And sheathes it in her bosom, there to rust. 
And dies outright. The watch seize friar Laurence 
And let him go again ; and there 's an end ; 
And more 's the pity, seeing there was never 
Of perfect truelove a more perfect model, 
Never a story of more pleasant woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; May 4, 1855. 


Tar in a desert island in the midst 

Of the Mediterranean lived, long years ago, 

A wrinkled, withered hag, called Sycorax, 

With Caliban her son, an uncouth savage 

And worshipper, like her, of Setebos, 

Whoever Setebos was. The old witch died 

And Caliban reigned alone in the desert island. 

When one day in a leaky boat arrived, 

With his books of magic and his infant daughter, 

Milan's Duke, Prospero, expelled his duchy 

By his usurping brother, Antonio, 

And turned adrift; black day for Caliban, 

Who, as a matter of course, is robbed of all. 

And civilized, and taught a new religion. 

And made to fetch and carry for a master 


And for his master's daughter, sweet Miranda, 

Now growing to a woman, and at last 

A woman grown, who of no other men 

Knows in the world but Caliban and her father, 

Though I '11 not swear she has never heard of spirits. 

Her father being a sorcerer, and dealing 

Largely with creatures of that Natural Order, 

Darkening the sun by their means, raising storms, 

And doing with equal ease all possible things 

And all impossible. Especially 

One Ariel was his favorite, a blythe spirit 

Whom, when he came to the island first, he found 

Pegged in a cloven pine — '^A spirit pegged!" 

Aye, to be sure, for Sycorax was a witch, 

And witches can as easily peg spirits 

Into cloven pines, as tapsters can peg spiles 

Into beer barrels — and there the spirit was howling. 

And writhing to get out, now twelve whole winters. 

When Prospero came, and, the dead witch defying, 

Widened the pine-tree rift and let him out. 

Another twelve years and we find the spirit 

On board the king of Naples' ship in the offing. 

Frightening the king of Naples and his friend 

And protege, the usurping Duke Antonio, 

Now playing Jack o' lantern on the mast. 

Now running up and down the shrouds like wildfire. 

Now firing squibs and crackers in the cabin, 

But in the long run quite goodnaturedly 

Saving them all from foundering in the tempest 

He had brought upon them by his master's orders. 

And sound and dry into his master's hand 

Delivering both the usurper and the king. 

And the king's drunken jester, drunken butler. 

And handsome son; of whom Miranda chooses. 


After a game at chess, tlie last for husband^ 

The wedding ceremonial being however 

Deferred, for want of a priest, till safe return 

Of the high contracting Powers to Christendom 

With the drunken jester and the drunken butler, 

And wicked brother Antonio freely pardoned 

Without his even so much as asking pardon 

Or promising amendment or saying thank ye; 

And so breaks off, a little abrupt^ the story. 

Leaving us to surmise how they got home, 

And wondering often whether they took with them^* 

Or there behind them left, poor Caliban; 

And as for Ariel who can't well refuse. 

Having supplied the storm that brought it thither. 

To find fair weather for the ship returning. 

He 's to have leave, this last turn served, to go 

And shift for himself and keep clear for the future 

Of witches^ cloven pines, and Dukes of Milan. 

Lord, what delight the enactment of this story 
By full grown men and women gives to children! 
And how I laughed, when I was seven years old, 
At all the queer things staggering Trinculo said^ 
And hid my head when Caliban crawled out. 
And peeped again when it was Ariel flying. 
And wondered why 'twas not at blindman's buff 
But chess the king's son and Duke's daughter played. 
And hated the bad duke, and loved the good one 
With his enchanter's wand and long, striped coat} 
Alas, those happy days of seven years old 
For me are fled, and with them fled, for me, 
Tom Thumb and Cinderella and The Tempest! 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey; May 15, 1855. 



Ihe king of England meets the king of France 

And shakes hands with him in a field near Ardres; — 

The Duke of Buckingham 's accused of treason, 

Tried and condemned, and sets off in a barge 

For Tower Hill, there to have his head chopped off; — 

Katharine of Arragon, poor virtuous queen! 

Has her ti'ial too, and, being repudiated, 

Dies brokenhearted in Kimbolton castle; • — 

Proud Wolsey blooms and ripens in the sun 

Of royal favor till a cloud between 

Hiiii ^nd the siin comes, and he droops and fades 

And shrivels up, and begs a little earth 

And leave to lay his bones in Leicester Abbey, 

And dies at eight p. m. and goes to — heaven ; — 

The king sees Anna Boleyn at a ball 

And takes her out to dance, and kisses her, 

And gives her Katharine's warm place in his bed; — --"^^ 

The yoiing queen's coronation is a sight 

Angels look down upon from heaven with envy: 

The prayers, the benedictions, holy chrism, 

The ball and sceptre and the bird of peace, 

The happy crowds of gaping, wondering faces. 

The anthem and the full choir and the organ, 

The battle -ax -men and the halberdiers. 

The golden circlet placed by England's primate, 


In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

Upon the fairest of the six fair brows 

Whose happy fortune 'tis, one after th' other. 

To please for a while the taste of scrupulous Henry; 

And, not least gazed at of the brave assembly, 

The heretic doctor, placed for his heresy 

At the head of all the bishops and archbishops, 

The same good man who, give him time enough, 

Shall, in the sight of some of those there gazing, 

Abominate and abjure his heresy; i' 

Nay, far more curious and delectable sight! 

Abominate and abjure his abjuration; — 

A lying-in comes next, with cake and caudle; — 

And thereupon a christening, where the same 

Half- heretic doctor gossips, and foretelling 

The blessings kind heaven has in store for the baby. 

Ignores, with true prophetic skill, the blessings •[ 

The same kind heaven has in store for the baby's mother 

And the wise prophet's self. So ends the story. 

And what do you think it 's called? the unfortunate duke? 

Or good archbishop? or bad cardinal? 

Or meeting of their highnesses at Ardres? 

Or Katharine's divorce? or Anna Boleyn's 

Wooing, or lying-in, or coronation? 

Or happy Christening of Elizabeth ? 

No; but it 's called, after the peg on which 

The nine odd scraps are hung. King Henry the Eighth. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Ieeland); May 18, 1855. 



Here I go up and down, hop, hop, hop, 
And from morning till night never stop 
Picking seeds up and filling my crop ; 
And though I 'm but a sparrow, and thou 
A mighty great man, I allow, 
I would not change with thee, somehow." 

^^For a thing of thy size," answered I, 

"Great 's thy wisdom, I '11 never deny. 

So to live on the same way I '11 try. 

As I lived years before thou wast hatched. 

Or the barn, thou wast hatched in, was thatched; 

Pert sparrow, I hope thou art matched." 

"Very well," said the sparrow; "let be; 
Hadst thou not looked uncivil at me, 
I 'd no word said uncivil to thee, 
For we 're brothers alike, after all, 
Though you men, have the fashion to call 
Yourselves great and us, poor sparrows! smdll." 

Heidelberg, July 31 , 1855. 



AuF Wiederseh'n ! politer word 
I doubt not there might be, 

Could one but of politeness think 
When taking leave of thee. 

Auf Wiederseh'n ! then, dearest girl. 
Since from thee I must part — 

Auf Wiederseh'n ! not from the lips 
But from the sad, sad heart. 

Heidelberg, July 28, 1855. 




Adieu! kind friends; and, by these idle rhymes 
Or by the hour reminded, think sometimes 
Of the two strangers, widely wandering pair. 
With whom ye pleased your evening walks to share, 
Gladdening their one short week in still Carlsruhe, 
But saddening — ah, how saddening! their adieu. 

1 74 




Farewell! and happy live till thou and I 
Meet once again beneath a summer sky; 
Should that day never come, then happy die — 
Even while I say Farewell! the minutes fly. 

August the Twenty Third, in Tubingen, 

I paid a visit to the poet Uhland, 

Who with some formal courtesy received me, 

And next day at my lodgings left a card. 

More wouldst thou loiow of Uhland? pay him a visit 

And, if thou 'rt able, make more out of him 

Than that he is a little, ugly, wiry, 

Wrinkled, hard -vis aged man of eight and sixty. 

Who, jilted of his Muse, sits all day long 

In his study, moping over Lord knows what, 

And little recks of friends, and less of strangers, 

And bathes of summer mornings in the Neckar. 

Walking from Beilstein to Weinsuerg (Wurttemberg) ; Sept. 3, lS5o. 






Learning and leisure, and a gentle mind 
To works of charity of itself inclined; 
Visions * of Good and Beautiful and True 
Hiding the real, sad, suffering world from view, 
Are bounteous heaven's munificent gifts to thee — 
Enjoy them, and of all men happiest be. 

So there 's an end!" said I, and from the grave 
Turned homeward, sorrowful, my lingering step. 
And down beside the cradle sat and wept, 
Then, having wept my fill, went out and labored 
And with eased heart returned, and eat and slept. 
And rose next day and labored, wept and slept. 
And rose again next day and did the same. 
And every day the same did, till the last; 
And now, the last day come at long and last, 
I weep because it 's come and ends my weeping. 

Stuttgabt, Sept. 1, 1855. 

* Doctor Tafel is a zealous disciple of Swedenborg's, and has written 
much and amiably and eloquently, but as it appears to me, without any 
vis consequentiae , in support of that religionist's doctrines. 



jNaked, and for the plunge prepared, I stood 

Upon the deep pool's steep and silent brink, 

And, having thought a brief farewell to home, 

Kindred and friends, hopes, joys, and pains, and fears, 

Leaped like a frog into the yielding water. 

Which with a welcome gurgling filled mine ears. 

And mouth and nose and eyes, and stopped my breath. 

And I becdme as though I had not been born; 

And men set up a stone to mark the spot. 

And carved a death's-head and cross bones upon it. 

And the reproachful words Felo de se ; 

And would have killed me ten times, if they could, 

Rather than 6nce have let me kill myself. 

Pity their creed 's not true, else I 'd come back 

Anights, and scare them as they lie abed 

Thinking of ghosts and hell -fires and the damned, 

And suicides in deep, black, dismal pools. 

And heaven's revenge, and their own naughtiness 

Which from their God even in their prayers they hide. 

In vain. Let be; their creed 's their punishment. 

Walking from Themar to Suhl, in the Thubingian Forest; Oct. 3,* 1S55. 

177 12 

Why so shy of death, sweet infant? 
Death 's but one long, lasting hush-6, 
And the grave a deep, deep cradle 
Hiing with black cloth and white linen. 

^*I 'm not tired yet of my corals, 
Candy, cakes, and milk and honey; 
In the grave Mamma won't pet me, 
Nor Papa bring me new play-things." 

Joyous stripling, why so shun death? 
Death 's no crabbed, sour preceptor. 
Wakes thee not of early mornings ; 
In the grave 's one long vacation. 

^'In the grave 's one long vacation, 
Biit no dice, no bowls, no tennis; 
Death toasts never in Champagne wine 
Lizzy's love or Bellas beauty." 

Mdn of rij^e years, why so dredd death? 
In the grdvc there 's n6 more trouble, 
Dedth keeps wdtch and lets not enter 
Pain or loss or fear or sorrow. 



In the grdve there is no trouble, 
But there 's also no enjoyment, 
Death keeps watch and lots not enter 
Pleasure, profit, hope or honor." 

Feeble, tottering, weary old man, 
Why from Death's kind help recoil soV 
See! he spreads a soft couch for thee; 
Cast thy stafi" away and lie down. 

^^ Gladly would I Death's kind hand take, 
And upon his soft couch stretch me, 
Did no demons round it hover, 
Did no nightmares its sleep trouble." 

Demons, nightmares haiint not that bed, 
Sound its sleep, sound, sound and dreamless; 
Lay thine head down on the pillow. 
Close thine eyes now, and — all 's over. 

Walking" from Suhl, in the Thukingian Forest, to Ohrdruff; Oct. 4, 1S55. 

Acute, observant, witty and profound, 
Goethe, the worldly wise, dwells in my brain; 
But to my heart of hearts, with all thy faults, ^ 
I take thee, gentle, noble-minded Schiller, 
And with thee mourn, not mock, humanity. 

Walking- from Ludwigsbukg to Beilstein (Wuettemberg) ; Sept. 2, IS 55. 

170 12* 


[ELL me^ Qiiintus/' once said Virgil^ 
As lie walked in Rome with Horace^ 
^^Wliat think'st tlioii of my Eneis? 
Who can judge so well as Quintus?" 

^^For the compliment I thank thee^ 
Though I own I scarce deserve it. 
Clever Publius/' answered Horace; 
"Thoii shalt hear my plain opinion: 

"Thine Eneis is a great work^ 
Worthy match of Grecians greatest^ 
Round the Roman Homer's temples 
Binds a wreath of bay perennial. 

"Wider than of Roman Eagle 
Shall the flight be of Rome's Epos, 
Viewed with wonder by unborn tribes 
Of all climates tongues and colors." 

"With the future/' answered Virgil, 
"Let it be as Jove and Fate will; 
It 's enough for me, my Quintus, 
To have pleased the Roman Pindar." 

Ohrdrufp, near Gotiia; Oct. 4, 1855. 


Ask me not what her name was — it's small matter 
About a name — but ask me what herself was, 
And my whole being, bursting into tears, _ — 
Answers: ^^She was" — good God! and is't she was? 

Weinsberg (Wurttembeeg) ; Sept. 4, 1855. 

oHE never in her whole life wrote one stanza, 
She knew no Greek, no Latin, scarcely French, 
She played not, danced not, sang not, yet when Death 
His arms about her threw, to tear her from me, 
I would have ransomed her, not Orpheus -like 
With mine own song alone, but with all song, 
Music and dance, philosophy and learning 
Were ever, or to be were, in the world. 

GoTHA, Oct. 12, 1S55. 


1 Bi 

IHEY sdy I 'm 6f a Propaganda school 
And would have all men measure by my rule. 
And they say true^ perhaps; but then the rule, 
I 'd hdve them measure by, is: There 's no rule. 

WiJRZBURG (Bava-ria), Sept. 29, 1855. 

INTO two classes all men f divide, 
The oppressed on this, the oppressors on that, side; 
Let them change names and places as they will, 
Oppressors and oppressed I find them still. 

Walking from Suhl to Obernhof in the Thueingian Forest; Oct. 4, 1855. 


HEILBRONN , SEPT. 19, 1855. 

Pleasant it is to journey on and on. 

Observing still new lands and peoples strange, 

But far more pleasant on a spot to light 

Which with so friendly courtesy receives us, 

That we stop short and say: — ^^Why one step further?" 



IHE ship struck on a rock by accident^ 
And sank, and all on board were lost but two. 
Whom in the longboat of th' ill fa ted vessel; 
Almost by miracle , a kind Providence saved. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 3, 1855. 

No wonder, redder, that from all I say 

Thou turn'st with closed eyes and closed ears away, 

For in this point at least all men agree. 

That each will teacher, none will learner, be. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg), Sept. 13, 1855. 



Prometheus' fedt to thine was but a patch, 
Glorious inventor of the lucifer- match! 
Thou steal'st not fire, but mak'st it fresh and new; 
And, what even Heaven forgot, hid'st it from view. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg), Sept. 20, 1855. 


On my bed 
Down my head 
Laid like lead; 
Clothes tucked in 
Under cliin_, 
I begin 
Not to sleep, 
But to weep 
And watch keep, 
Wondering why 
I don't die 
And down low, 
Sad and slow, 
To Styx go. 
There to moan 
Faithless Joan 
Away flown, 
Flown away, 
Would not stay, 
Lack a day! 
Well, let be! 
Plain I see 
'Twould kill me 


So to lie 

'lono; and sigh 

Heigh ho ! heigh ! 


's fair and kind; 

Wasn't I blind 

To prefer 

Joan to her? 

I aver 

I would not 

Give one groat^ 

Stir one jot, 

Joan to save 

From the grave; 

Beauty's slave 

Though Fate me 

Doomed to be, 

Still — d' ye see? 

She left me 

Full and free 


This one's noose 

To refuse. 

That one's choose. 

So revolved 
And resolved, 
The case solved, 
Dried mine eyes, 
Stilled my sighs, 
Up I rise 
At gray day. 
And my way, 
Fresh and gay, 


Take toward kind 
With stout mind, 
Shown by nip 
Of my lip; 
And firm grip 
Of my stick, 
i pass quick 
The hayrick, 
Where, close by 
Joan's house, I 
Used to lie 
On the ground, 
Watching round 
Sight or sound 
Of Joan nigh. 
'^Bye! good bye! 
Joan," said I; 
'^As thou me, 
i leave thee. 
To live free," 
And a look, 
Turning, took 
Of the brook 
And grass plat 
And flower knot 
And thatched cot. 
The fresh sun. 
His day's run 
Just begun. 
Clad with bright 
Ruddy light 
Tower and height, 


And the green 
Leaves between 
Glancing sheen, 
Every ray 
Seemed to say: — 
^'Please, Sir, stay." 
"Stay! not I; 
Bye! good bye! 
Joan/' cried I, 
And, "Heigh ho!" 
Sighed, and slow 
Turned to go. 
Was't echo 
Answered: — "ho!" 
i don't know. 
But, turned round 
At the sound. 
There I found, 
By my side, 
In her pride, 
Joan, my bride. 
Wasn't I blind 

Though she 's kind. 
So to her 
To prefer. 
And aver 
i would not 
Give one groat, 
Stir one jot, 
Joan to save 
From the grave? 
Beauty's slave 


When Fate me 
Doomed to be^, 
Mistress she 
'ssigned me none 
But mine own 
Peerless Joan. 

Tubingen, Aug. 2S, 1855. 


IHESE verses read; and; having read; tell me 
If not as good as Horace's they be. 


As good as Horace's! my dear Sir^ no; 
Horace wrote his two thousand years ago. 


Had mine been writ two thousand years ago, 
And Horace's today, hadst still said No? 


No, by no means; then thou hadst been the rule. 
And i had learned thee off by heart at school. 


Alas, alas, the tyranny of Fate! 

Better not born at dll, than born so late. 


Patience; thou 'rt time enough; each has his date, 
Some earlier, later some, but all must wait. 
Two thousand years hence thou perhaps shalt be 
Greater than Horace — Why so stare at me? 

1 S8 


I 'm thinking if two thousand years work so^ 
What will four thousand do; I 'd like to know. 


Undo all that two thousand years had done^ 
And leave thee as thou 'rt now^ by all unknown; 
6t, if thou 'rt Fortune's special favorite^ raise 
And moot the question in some score of ways : 
How many poets were there of thy name. 
And to thy verses which has the best claim, 
Or hark in with some future Woifius' cry 
That thoii and thy existence were a lie, 
For to create such noble works required 
Some twenty bards at least, and all inspired. 


Then there 's no way to be for ever known, 
And consecrate the world to come mine own. 


And if there were, what were 't but vanity 
. When 6nce the coffin lid has closed on thee? 


So be it. Come, Muse, let 's not throw pearls away, 
Or pipe for those who won't the piper pay. 
We 11 please our noble selves; I thee, thou me; 
And for itself let shift posterity. 

Walking from Weinsberg in Wurttemberg to Wurzburg in Bavaria; 
Sept. 25 — 29, 1S55. 


"Immer am widrigsten bleibt der Scliein des Monds und der Sterne, 
Nicht ein Kornlein, bei Gott! weckt ihr uupraktischer Stralil." 

JusTiNus Kerner. 

This w6rid 's so fast progressing I do not despair to see yet 
Three things, that now run all to waste, turned to important 

There 's first of all the singing birds, it go^s to my heart to 

hear them 
Straining their little throats and lungs to no conceivable 

purpose ; 
Teach them to sing a regular tune, and soldiers could march 

to it. 
And cost of fife and drum be spared as well 's of fifer and 

Then there 's the moon- and star-light bright, that, all the 

livelong night through, 
On hill and vale and se4 and plain Heaven so profusely 

I 'd like to know why it might not be in reservoirs collected. 
And used in manufactories at half the cost of gas-light. 
But wind 's the thing that 's wasted most, though wind 's 

more worth than jewels. 
And dt the State's expense should be, by forcing pump and 

In copious streams, to every house, supplied all day and 

night long. 
To keep it clear from dust and smoke and cholera and fever; 


And every man should pay a fine that 's of the crime convicted, 
Of wdsting wind in fo61ish talk or blowing the church organ, 
But women's mouths should still be free, and weathercocks 

and windmills, 
And ships of every size and rig, and members of both Houses. 
If God 's so good my life to spare until I see these changes, 
I '11 die content, not doubting but things will go on improving 
Until at last the whole wide world 's exactly as it should be. 

Weinsberg- (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 9, 1855. 

IHE coachman drives, the horses draw, the carriage carries 

Who sits inside and lolls at ease, secure from wind and weather; 
But Dives' nights are restless, he has no appetite for dinner: — 
^'Discharge your coachman. Dives, sell your horses and your 

And on your two legs trudge it, under every wind and weather, 
And, crede mi experto, as a top you '11 sleep all night sound. 
And hardly wait for ended Grace, to fall upon your dinner." 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg), Sept. 7, 1855. 

WOULDST thou convince the doubting world thou 'rt truly 
And from thine heart repentant thou 'st not married. 
Marry; repentance is best proved by penance. 

Heidelberg, August 1, 1S55. 

1 91 

There dre two sisters; one with bright, 

Gay, laughing eyes, full of delight, 

And outstretched hand and warm embrace. 

And joy- irradiated face, 

And step alert, and such sweet voice 

As makes the hearer's heart rejoice. 

No company is to my mind 

In which I don't this sister find. 

Never in this world was seen 

Maiden of more opposite mien 

Than th' other sister: sobs and sighs. 

Drooping lids and tearful eyes, 

And heavy footstep, lingering slow, 

Unwilling, yet prepared, to go, 

And handkerchief white -waving still, 

And prayers to Heaven to avert all ill. 

Never long, be it where it may, 

When I meet this maid I stay, 

But right-about face, and away. 

*** Come they call the cheerful maid. 

Fare * "^ '^ the melancholy jade ; 

Both in one house live and attend 

The coming and the parting friend. 

One opens, and one shuts, the door; 

Thou know'st them both — Need I say more? 

GoTHA, Oct. 11, 1855. 


"Et grato reraeat seciTrior ictii." 

In Rome's old days of glory^ when a citizen thought fit 

A well deserving sldve^ of free grace, to manumit, 

He called the varlet to him, and, bidding him steady stand, 

A smart slap on the cheek dealt him with open hand, 

And said: — ^'Thy freedom take and with it my last blow; 

Much good may they both do thee ; there — thou art free to go." 

That sight I never saw; but I Ve seen as curious sight 
When it pleased a sovereign prince to make a belted knight; 
For he called the fellow to him, and bade him down to kneel, 
And slapped him on the shoulder with the flat side of his steel, 
And said: — '^Get lip. Sir knight, and about thy business go, 
And take with thee for remembrance my last and parting blow." 
And up the gallant knight got from his bended knee 
With the blow upon his shoulders, the pink of chivalry; 
For a prince is honor's fountain, only source of dignity. 
And his blow chivalrous makes, as the old Roman's blow 

made free. 
And I 'm sorry f Avasn't by, when, defying all belief, 
A British prince a knight made out of a loin of beef: — 
^^Get lip. Sir loin," he said, with a flat slap of his knife. 
And worthier knight made never the good prince in his life. 

GoTHA, Octob. 14, 1855. 

19» 13 



thou who all things here below iinderstandest^ 

From whom Heaven hides nothings who seest into Chdos^ 

Far Limbo ^ dim Purgat'ry^ Tartarus deep, 

Who delightest thy friends to instruct and enlighten, 

AVho never forgettest and mak'st no mistakes. 

Have I leave, in the State's name, O Muse, to put to thee 

Some few questions statistic concerning thyself? 


1 'm no friend of statistics — revived Inquisitions — 
Th' old serpent crept back in the guise of a lamb ; 
But no matter, the State has a right to command me 5 
Proceed with thy business and let me be going. 


First of all, with a view to identification, 
The State asks thy name. 


Asks my name ! let me think — 
Euterpe, Melpomene, Erato, Clio, 
Terpsichore, Polymnia, Urania, Thalia, 
Aede, Calliope, Melite, Mneme — 

Choose which thou lik'st best — one 's as good as another — 
Perhaps none quite correct, but I answer to all. 


That 's the first point disposed of. Now, what 's thy religion? 


Like the State's, it depends upon time, place and fashion; 

Long Pagan , then Christian ; Mahommedan never. 

Never Mormon or Jewish, though with time 'tmay be either. 

.( 194 


That 's the second point settled. Now, where wert thou born V 


In Beotia my foes say, my friends say in Heaven; 
My* own memory though long doesn't go quite so far. 


Then thou 'rt oldV 


Why perhaps — I don't know — I 'm not sure — 
Can't one have a good memory without being old? 
Must the State know a lady's age just to an hour? 
No; I '11 not be cross -questioned — I 've never been used 

to it — 
And thou too, Mr. Poet, to make thyself party! 
Whither 's gallantry, chivalry, courtesy fled? 
It 's the Iron Age come back — Et tu. Brute, tu! 
Fare thee well ; happy live ; serve the State ; keep progressing 
Like the blind grinding horse that thinks going round 's 

pr6gress — 


For God's sake. Muse, listen — 


Farewell! we are two. 


She 's gone — I '11 go after — but where shall I find her? 

Whither turn to look for her? her domicile where? 

Fool ! that might'st to that question have had her own answer 

Hadst thou dealt but a little more gingerly with her 

And not touched her age till thou 'dst learned her abode — 

As it stands in the schedule: Abode — Calling — Age — 

Wise schedule! well, help there was never for spilled milk; 

So patience, as Maro says, ^'Et vosmet rebus 

Servate secundis;" i. e. in plain prose: 

The dear girl when she comes next perhdps may be softer — 

185 13* 

I '11 depend on thee, Mc4ro, for who ever better 

Than Maro the maid knew, or questioned her closer, 

Or got her to tell more , or — worse kept her secrets V 

Not quite Mr — not quite fair — thou 'st been scurvily treated, 

Poor Muse, I must own; and if thou but com'st back 

And talk'st kindly with me, and this once forgiv'st me, 

I swear by Parnassus I '11 never to mortal 

One syllable utter of all that has happened. 

Or ask thee from henceforth one personal question; 

Let the State , if it Avill , do its own shabby business. 

Or some one, more fitted than I, find, to d(5 it; 

I '11 be none of its pimp — See ! I tear up the schedule — 

There she comes! welcome back! that 's my own darling girl! 

So byegones are byegones, and once more we 're friends. 

Carlsruhe, Nov. 26, 1855. 


It chanced as I passed by my barn one fine evening — 
Few barns have so splendid a view to the West — 
I saw, side by side on the half- door perched cozy. 
My cock and my hen and a six -weeks -old chicken. 

As I stood looking at them, and they at the sunset 
Tliat was painting with gold me and them and the barn, 
Says the hen in reply to a question the chicken 
Had just put: — ^^I '11 tell you, my dear, all about it: 

'^The sun sets in the West; then beneath the round edrth 
Goes across to the East and there rises again; 
His rising makes day and his setting makes night, 
And s(') he goes circling for ever and ever." 


"No, Mamma/' said the chicken, "just hear me explain it: 
The sun when he sets stops a short while to rest him, 
Then turns, and goes straight back the same way he came, 
But you can't see him going the night is so dark. 
And so he goes posting, like mail coach or steam train. 
To and fro on the same line for ever and ever." 

"You 're both fools," said the cock, "not one inch the sun 

But the earth on itself keeps round turning incessant. 
Like a little boy's top or an old housewife's spindle; 
The side that turns towards the sun thinks the sun rises, 
The side that turns from the sun thinks the sun sets. 
And so it goes twirling in sunshine and shadow. 
And twirls us all with it for ever and ever." 

As he spoke the sun set and they broke up the council, 
And up to their roosts flew, one after another, 
And I in to tea went, and told the whole story. 
But no one believed me — all said I was joking, 
And only the more laughed the more I protested, 
Till at last I took huff and went up to roost too ; 
And my cock from that day forth they called Galileo, 
My chickens the Conclave, my old hen the Pope. 

Walking from HERRENBERCr to Calw (Wukttembekg) , Nov. 3, 1855. 

Well to get through this world there 's one receipt 
Kindly the Bitter take, cautious the Sweet. 

GoTHA, Oct. 11, 1S55. 





Who can say what the consequence had been, 

Subtle inventor of the Lucifer match, 

Had Heaven but taken care in box like thine 

To hide from every prying eye its fire ! 

Perhdps Prometheus had not yet been sent 

To Caucasus ; Cranmer's right hand and left 

Not expiated contradictory crimes, 

Nor with Joan's ashes Rouen's stones been smutted; 

Ephesian Dian's temple still had stood; 

Swine, kine, and pretty lambs died natural deaths. 

And thou and I our stomachs' cravings stilled 

With innocent, bloodless cucumber and salad. 

But Heaven cares more to punish than prevent: 

Prometheus rued in Caucasus' ice his theft; 

Dian was shorn of her Ephesian glory; 

Witches and saints and heretics were sublimed; 

And butchers, bakers, cooks, tobacco smokers, 

Artillery, gas, and steam o'erran the world. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 22, 1855. 


Clever people are disagreeable; always taking the advan- 
tage of you ; 

Stupid people are disagreeable, you never can knock anything 

into their heads; 

Idle people are disagreeable , you must be continually amusing 


Busy people are disagreeable, never at leisure to attend to 


Extravagant people are disagreeable, always wanting to borrow 

of you; 

Saving people are disagreeable, won't lay out a penny on you; 

Obliging people are disagreeable, always putting you under a 

compliment ; 

Rude people are disagreeable, never stop rubbing you against 

the grain ; 

Religious people are disagreeable, always boring you with 

points of foith; 
I Irreligious people are disagreeable, no better than Turks and 
' heathens; 

Learned people are disagreeable, don't go by the rules of 

common sense ; 

Unlearned people are disagreeable, never can tell you what 

you don't already know; 

Fashionable people are disagreeable, mere frivolity and emp- 
tiness ; 

Vulgar people are disagreeable, don't know how to behave 

themselves ; 


Wicked people are disagreeable, you 're never safe in their 

company ; 
But no people are so disagreeable as your truly good and 

worthy people — 
Slop-committee water-gruel, without a spice of wine or nutmeg, 
Mawzy mutton overboiled, without pepper, salt, or mustard. 

Walking from Tubingen to Heruenberg (Wurttemberg) , Nov. 2, 1855. 

KiGHT for you 's wrong for me. 
If by different rules we 

Right and Wrong chance to measure; 
Good for me 's bad for you. 
If we don't the same view. 

Both, of pain take and pleasure. 

Carlsruhe, Nov. 11, 1855. 

oTOP! stay! let 's consider!" cried Irresolution, 
And hung back till the boat drifted oi'it of his reach; 
But Daring leaped in and laid hold of the rudder, 
And steered himself safe to the opposite bank. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg), Sept. 3, 1855. 


Summer 's gone — fled away with his lilies and roses, 
Long mornings and evenings, and deep glowing noon; 
But lament him not thou, for see yonder where Autumn, 
Crowned with corn ear and vine branch, approaches to greet 


Autumn 's gone — fled away with his vine branch and corn 

And has left not one poppy in all the bare held; 
But lament him not thoii, for see yonder where Winter 
To the snug house and joys of the fireside invites thee. 

Winter 's gone — to the bleak, frozen North has retreated; 
The fireside 's deserted, the snug corner empty; 
But lament thou not therefore, but out to the green bank 
Where Spring 's strewing violets, and list to the throstle. 

Spring 's gone — and his violets are choked on the green bank. 
The throstle's song 's silent, the thorn 's no more white ; 
But lament thou not therefore, for sec where with long days 
And wreaths of fresh roses young Summer comes back. 

Walking from Poppeniiausen to Unterpleichfeld (Bavaria), Oct. 20, 1S55. 



I LOVE thee, Marbach, in tlie sun there lying, 

Vine clad, upon the Neckar s peaceful bank, 

And loved thee ere I saw thee or thy name heard. 

Thee that gav'st birth beneath yon humble roof 

To the loftiest minded of Germdnia's poets. 

I love thy church too with its perpendicular 

Roof of red tiles and gay, enamelled steeple. 

That, from across the way, looks down upon 

The cradle of thy nursling; and, as here 

I lie at ease stretched in thy walnut shade, 

On this bright, sunny day of late October, 

And listen to the murmur of thy Neckar, 

Blending mehklious with thy vintage song. 

Think how a hundred years ago those sounds 

Fell on til' awakening ear of infant Schiller, 

And sigh and to myself say: Roll on, Neckar, 

Another hundred years, and from thy banks 

To Anna Liflfey's banks perhaps shall come 

Some one acquainted with my song, and ask 

^^Was here his cradle?" and being answered ^^Yes," 

Shall also ask to see where lie my bones. Ml 

Mabbach (Wurttemberg) , Oct. 26, 1855. 


Over hUl and plain and valley 
Onward as I travel aimless, 
Often, toward the close of evening, 
To my secret self I thus say : — 

^^ Yonder see the same sun setting 
Nearly where he set last evening. 
Yonder, grown "a little larger. 
See the same moon silent rising. 

^^Thoii too 'rt grown one whole day older 
Than thou wast at this hour last night. 
But thou 'rt not grown one day wiser. 
And still less groAvn one day better. 

^^What though Titus, what though Cato 
Had in thy case mourned a day lost. 
Heart, rejoice, and count each hoiir won 
That no wound inflicts in passing.'' 

Walking from Giebelstadt in Bavaria to Mergentheim in Wurttemberg, 
Oct. 22, 1855. 




Tell me not how much thou lov'st me, 
Love by words was never measured, 
But look kindly and I 11 soon know 
Without words how much thou lov'st me. 

Let me see thine eye grow brighter 

At my coming and thy lid droop 

If I but talk of departing ' 

And I '11 know how much thou lov'st me. 

When thou singest, when thou playest 
Sing and play those airs alone which 
Thoii hast heard me say I like best, 
And I '11 know liow much thou lov'st me. 

Walk no roads but those which I walk, 
Choose no flowers but those which I choose, 
Have no friends but those whom I have, 
And I '11 know how much thou lov'st me. 

Love me and thou need'st not tell it, 
Love that 's told 's already less love ; 
Love me and thou canst not hide it, 
Love me and I can't but know it. 




I 'LL not tell thee how I love thee, 
Love by words was never measured, 
But look at me thou, and tell me 
Dost thou not see how I love thee — 

Dost thou not mine eye see brighten 
At thy coming, and my lid droop 
If thou but talk'st of departing — 
I '11 not tell thee h6w I love thee. 

I no songs sing, I no airs play. 
But those songs and airs thou lik'st best. 
When thou 'rt Absent i am tuneless — 
f '11 not tell thee how I love thee. 

f no roAds walk which thou walk'st not. 
Choose no flowers but those thou choosest. 
Have no friends but those whom thou hast 
{ '11 not tell thee how I love thee. 

How I love thee I '11 not tell thee, 
Love that 's told 's already less love ; 
How I love thee I cannot hide, 
Ere I knew it myself thou knew'st it, 

Tubingen, Oct. 28, 1855. 




STUTTGART, NOV. 10, 185 5. 

This day is Schiller's birthday; there 's rejoicing 

In Stuttgart from the highest to the lowest; 

All Wiirttemberg rejoices, king and court, 

Laic and priest; the square before Old Palace 

Is odorous of flowers strown round his statue; 

Children his name lisp, and the very bells 

That call on Sundays to the house of prayer 

Are this day eloquent with the name of Schiller. 

Silence, vile sounds! false flowers, grow pale and wither! 

Hiish, children! let no tongue pronounce his name, 

Th' expatriated fugitive's, whose bones 

Sanctify Weimar's earth, whom ye disowned. 

And from among ye sent to seek a poor. 

Hard earned subsistence in a foreign land. 

Because he would not have his free thoughts scissored, 

And from another cog what he should say. 

He has his turn now and disowns thee, Stuttgart, 

Disowns thee, Suabia; bids ye keep your honors, 

Useless to him, reproachful to yourselves; 

He was yours; ye despised him, would not have him; 

In vain ye claim him now — he is the world's. 

And yet ye did no more than other Stuttgaiis 

And Wiirttembergs have done to other Schillers, 

No more than, from all time, the seized of power 

Have done, and to all time will do, to those 

Who dare to touch or even so much as point at 

The incoherent rubbish, silt and offal, 

Which underlie the lowest foundation stone 


Of all powei'; and may any day give way 

And slip from underneath, and down falls power 

Amid the loud hurrahs of those who take 

The ruins to erect with them a like 

Proud, towering structure on like dunghill basis 

Permanent perhaps a while, but sure at last 

To rot and stink and ooze and slip away 

From underneath, and down, as old tower fell, 

Falls new tower headlong, amid like hurrahs, 

Curses, and thanks to God, and hymns of triumph. 

Thirty nine birthdays Marbach's son had counted. 

Ere far lerne from my mother's womb 

Received me first, and to his fate had bowed, 

And yielded up, resigned, his painful breath. 

And his eyes closed. upon the sweet daylight 

And his own radiant fame, as my seventh year 

By the hand took me, and, beside the lap 

Of Watts and Barbauld placing, bade me listen 

For the first time to sweeter sound than lark's 

Or throstle's song, the numbers of the poet. 

Then other years came and to other laps 

Led me successive, and mine ear drew in 

Eager the various lore, and I grew on 

To be a man, and in the busy world 

Mixed with the busiest, and toiled hard for bread, 

And for vile gold , alas ! and rank and honor. 

But never at my busiest did I quite 

Forget my seventh year, or not now and then 

At edrly morn, late eve, or deep midnight. 

Retired and all alone, entreat to hear 

Numbers melodious — Goldsmith's, Scott's or Pope's, 

Spenser's or Shakespeare's, or divinest Milton's. 

Late Idte, and almost last, fell on mine ear 


His earnest tones whose agitated heart 

In Weimar's grave from my seventh year lay mouldering; 

Late, but not too late, came those earnest tones, 

Nor with a livelier Weimar voice unblended. 

Nor dissonant with Maro's long loved strain, 

T' adjure me from the world and consecrate me 

For ever after solely to the Muse; 

Whose I have been since then, and whose to be 

I would cease never while my lips have power 

To utter Maro's, Milton's, Schiller's name. 

[Carlsruuk, Nov. 20, 1855.] 

Out of the grave I took for love thy body. 
My best beloved! and burned it to a cinder; 
Forgive me, that for love I treated thee. 
As a bigot pope for hdtred treated Wicliffe. 

Carlsruhe, Nov. 17, 1855. 

Go to, that think'st of Time as of a thing 

Outside, and independant of, thyself; 

Thyself art Time, runn'st through thy various phases — 

Am, Was, Have been. Shall be — and com'st to an end. 

Carlsruhe, Nov. 6, 1855. 




Unless thy friend is wise advise him not, 
For no man takes advice unless he 's wise ; 
Unless thy friend 's unwise advise him not, 
For only the unwise require advice; 
And if thy friend 's unwise enough to need, 
And wise enough to take, advice, advise him 
Only in case thou 'st wise advice to give. 
And for thy wise advice no thanks expectest. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 



Corporeal darkness failed to quench the ray 

Of vision intellectual in the soul 

Of Milton, Homer, or Tiresias old. 

Or chill the warm pulsations of thy heart, 

Tender, imaginative, pensive Kerner. * 

Ah, what a song had thine been, hadst thou pitched it 

More to the subject's, less to the monarch's ear! 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 9, 1S55. 

* Kerner is 09 years of age, and, owing to a cataract on either eye, 
can scarcely see either to read or write. 

20 9 14 

As in the printed volume every piece. 

So in the mighty universe itself 

Everv existence, lies between two blanks. 

WEINSBERC+ (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 20, 1855. 


VerzeiiiE;, Weinsberg! schon sind deine Trilmmer, 
Und lieblich griin im Sommer ist dein Berg, 
Doch schoner noch ist mir der Weiber Treue, 
Die mitten auch in Winterkalte griin. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg), Sept. 4, 1855. 


* The ruins of the castle of Weinsberg, on a beautiful vine - planted 
hill immediately outside the town, owe the name by which they are at 
present known, viz. Die Weibertreue, to the following legend, or, it may 
be, true history. In the w^ars between the Welfs and HohenstaufFens in 
the year 1140, the Hohenstauffens besieged the Welfs in the castle of 
Weinsberg. The Welfs, reduced to extremities, surrendered at discretion, 
requiring only that their women should have permission to leave the castle, 
taking with them as much of their most valuable possessions as they could 
carry on their backs. The condition having been agreed to, the women 
walked out, carrying the men on their backs, and thus — for they were 
chivalrously allowed to pass through the lines unmolested — saved the 
lives of the garrison and earned for the scene of the exploit the title of 
Pie Weibertreue. BUrger has a poem, not a \ery good one, on the subject. 

'i I 

RECHTS steht der Aberglaube; Alles glaubencl; 
Der Skepticism, der gar Niclits glaubt^ steht links 
Inmitten sclilagen sich der Glaub'gen Schaaren — 
Ich schaue zu und freu' mich des Spektakels. 

Weinsbeeg (WuRTTEMBERa) , Sept. 14, 1855. 

Der Aberglaub'ge glaiibt zu viel, 

Der Skeptiker zu wenig, 
Drum schliess' icli mich den Glaub'gen an, 

Wann diese alle einig. 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 14, 1855. 


WARUM; mein Kind, sehn'st du dich so nach Oben? 


Auf Weiteres wird Alles hier verschoben; 
Es giebt, Gottlob! kein Weiteres dort oben. 

GiEBELSTADT, near Wurzburg, Sept. 29, 1855. 

211 14* 


Between the Neckar- and the Ammer-Thal; 

On the dividing hill, lies Tubingen, 

Dirtiest of cities ; on each side , a marsh. 

Here I beheld the Suabian Alma Mater 

Sitting in filth; and of the poet Uhland 

More than the outside strove in vain to know; 

And in Duke Ulrich's castle oft at tea 

With philanthropic, Swedenborgian Tafel 

Friendly discussed the spirit -seeer's lore; 

And on the Spitzberg botanized with Sigwartj 

And in th' Old College Natural - History Hall 

Pored with numbed fingers over petrified 

Pre -Adamite Conchylia, Ichthyosauri, 

And foot -tracks, in the sand, of birds and beasts, 

Lords of this world ere it was made for man ; 

And on the Oesterberg with Vischer strolling 

Talked of the Beautiful as if our walk 

Had been along th' Ilissus, not the Neckar, 

And all too late bethought me that if his. 

How much more my, esthetic soup required 

To have been well thinned ere served up to the public. 

Ye who in distant lands have heard the fame 
Of Tubingen, the protcstant, the learned — 
Of Tiibingen, the nursery of Melanchthon — 


Of Tubingen that saw its scrupulous despot 

Protest against a pope's sale of a pardon, 

And, at the same time, bring into the market, 

And to his pe6ple weigh against hard cash, 

That which is lawful merchandize as little 

As is God's grace — a license to be free — 

Ye that in distant lands have heard this fame. 

Provide yourselves with smelling salts, I advise je, 

Ere ye come hither; put on respirators. 

Green goggles and strong boots ; and when ye come. 

Don't lodge where I lodged, in the Golden Lamb, 

Beside the Rathhaus in the Market Place, 

Whose breakneck stairs and in-swagged floors still show, 

Beneath the last two centuries' dirt, the footmarks 

Of Crusius' scholars crowding, after lecture. 

To eat, drink, rant, and break more heads than Priscian's; 

Here lodge not, warned, but to the Traube go. 

Open your purse - strings wide and live genteel ; 

And on your way to Neckar bridge ye may, 

I think, without offence at Uhland's door 

Look, if so curious, but not knock or ring; 

And should some chdnce throw Fichte's son across yc, 

He is the man to answer ye the question 

Why sons of wise men are so often — wise; 

And Tafel 's at your service, should ye need aught, 

And rich the library and well conducted; 

And the few paintings in New College Hall 

May please the not fastidious; and be sure 

Ye see the long rows of Professors' portraits 

And 6ver hapless Frischlin's drop a tear. 

And blush that ye are men; and take a turn 

Among the canes in the Botanic Garden ; 

And in the Reading Room inquire the news ; 

And stdy not long , remembering health is precious ; 


I staid ten days — too long — then northwest turned 
Up th' Ammer-Thal toward Calw my wandering step^ 
And snuffed a purer air^ and waved adieu 
To Ulrich's Castle , Rathhaus, Colleges, 
Oesterberg; Spitzberg; hospitable Tafel, 
Th' outside of Uhland's door, and Tubingen. 

Walking from Calw to Liebenzell (Wurttembekg) , Nov. 3, 1855. 

'In the name of God we bind thee to this stake, 

In the name of God heap fagots up about thee, 

In the name of God set fire to them and burn thee 

Alive and crying loud to heaven for succor. 

And thus prove to the world the truthfulness 

Of our own creed and how it mollifies 

And fills with charity the human heart. 

And that thy creed 's as blasphemous as false, 

Th' invention of the Devil, and by God 

Permitted to his enemies and those 

AVho have no milk of kindness in their breasts." 

Such words heard Huss and Latimer and Ridley, 

Jerome of Prague and Cranmer and Socinus, 

And such words, reader, thou shouldst hear tomorrow, 

Hadst thou but courage to stand up against 

The dominant creed, and were that creed less safe, 

A trifle less safe, less securely seized 

Of its honors, powers, immunities, and wealth. 

Walking from Liebenzeel ( Wurttemberg) to Langensteinbacii near 
CAULSuunE, Nov. 4, 1855, 

2 1 4 


Ungrateful/' said Phoebus, 
'^That scornest, repellest, 
Th' embrace of Apollo, 
The kiss of a God ! 
Be it so — I 'm content — 
But thou go'st not unpunished, 
And Heaven 's not less mighty 
To curse than to bless. 

"Disdainful, begone! 
And that no one for 6ver 
From henceforth may credit 
One word thy mouth utters, 
I condemn thee, Cassandra, 
To speak always truth. 
Begone! and as long as 
Thou livest, remember 
Thy crime and mine ire! 
Proud mortal, thou 'rt doomed." 

Cablsbuhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 


What 's the reason, Prometheus," once said Epim^theus 
As he piit his hand to to assist the man -maker, 
"That when into water I throw these two souls here 
The little one sinks while the big one goes floating?" 
"I Ve jiist given the big one a double proportion 
Of vanity's light, airy gas," said Prometheus; 
"Specifical lightness, you know, makes things float." 
"Yes, I kn(5w to be sure. Prom," replied Epimetheus, 
"But may I ask why you have given to the two souls 
This same airy gas in so different proportions?" 
"The big one 's a great mans soul," answered Prometheus, 
"The little one belongs to an every day chiirl." 
"Is the gas good or bad, minus, plus, or indifferent?" 
"Bad; and just because bad, given in double proportion 
To the great soul to bring it down to the juste milieu." 
"Why make the soul great, first, and then fine it down? 
Were 't not simpler to make it juste milieu at once ? " 
"Can't always be done, Ep; the wheel turns out sometimes, 
In spite of my best care, one greater one meaner; 
And I 'm forced, that I mayn't have stepchildren and children, 
To tdke off or add, patch with minus or plus. 
Now for minus I find nothing handier and patter, 
And that easier amalgamates with the perfections, 
Than this weightless, elastic, intangible gas, 
Which possesses moreover the singular virtue 
That, no matter how much I pump in, no one ever 

2 itt 

Cries "stop!" or complains that I 've given him too much; 
And, more wonderful still, it 's no mdtter how bddly-, 
How half- made, a chiirl may drop out of the wheel, 
The first whifF of this gas at once mdkes him content, 
Makes him certain I Ve never put out of my hands 
A more finished, more faultless, more elegant creature; 
Well pleased with himself, he 's well pleased with his maker, 
I 'm praised, and he 's h4ppy, and all goes on right. 
Cut off, or but stint, the supply of this gds. 
And my wheel 's at a stand, or we 're in insurrection." 
"Thou tell'st wonders; canst with a small sample oblige me 
Of the magical stuff to try on my dumb creatures?" 
"Thou shalt not have one ounce — what a world we 'd have of it 
Were both men and beasts vain ! No, upon the great landmarks 
Thou must not lay a finger; beasts must still remain beasts, 
Gods be Gods and men men; and without the stuff thou 
Hast with thy children less care and trouble, believe me. 
Than I, even with all its best help, have with mine." 
No more said Prometheus but on with his work went. 
And to his beasts, thoughtful, returned Epimetheus. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 18, 1855. 

INSCRUTABLE justice and mercy and wisdom! 
Unabashed in thy face looks the apple, the sinner; 
The innocent pear droops its head, bears the shame. 

Carlskuiie, Dec. 28, 1855. 

2 17 

Whither in such imny, 

Mountain streamlet^ tell me, 
Down the hill -side rushest? 

"To the mill thou seest there 
Yonder in the valley; 
Hast thou any message?" 

Only tell Lisetta 

That thou saw'st me coming — 

Go! make haste! God bless thee! 

Caklsruhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 




As he, who, travelling westward, sees with joy 
The splendors of the evening sun reflected 
Even from the cold clouds of the distant east, 
So happy he, who, from his seventieth year 
Back- looking, sees the morning of his days 
Refulgent with the brightness of his evening. 

WEiNsnERa (WiJiiTTEMBERG) , Sept. 18, 1855. 


vVHAT 's this? a coffined c6rpse? no^ rdther say 
An old; worn out clock in its lacquered clockcase, 
The main spring broken, motionless the hands. 
The dial inexpressive, clapper silent 
And never more to signalize the sad 
Or joyful hour's arrival or departure. 

Walking from Giebelstadt in Bavaria to Mergentheim in Wurttemberg, 
Oct. 22, 1855. 


IHE cause I 'd fain know 
Why thou 'rt always so slow 

When thou 'rt c6ming to me; 
My feet leave behind 
The speed of the wind, 

When I 'm going to thee. 


Nay nay, it 's not so ; 
It 's thou that art slow 

When thou 'rt coming to me, 
I 'm arrived even before 
I have left mv own door, 

When I 'm going to thee. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 



It happened once upon a time as Jenny Dobbs was milking 
Bawsint Malkin in the cowhouse^ and no manner of harm 

was thinking, 
Bawsint Malkin gave a sudden rout as if some Spirit possessed 

And kicking with her hind foot spilt the milk about the 

Now the kick came most unluckily just at the very moment 
The pail was nearly full and Malkin's udder nearly empty. 
So it 's no great wonder Jenny Dobbs was not exactly quite 

And let Bawsint Malkin know it with a thump on her hind 

And some such w^ords as ^^ Wicked beast" and "bad drop 

always in ye." 
Now Jenny's cow had sense enough and thus she answered 

And would have said in Jenny's speech had Jenny Dobbs 

been Balaam: — 
'^Keep off your hands; the milk was mine, I had the right 

to spill it; 
It 's you are wicked, you that have the drop of bad blood 

in you, 
Who kill my calf and drink my milk, and tie me by the 

head here. 
And wait but till my udder 's dry to sell me to the butcher." 
So Bawsint Malkin's routing meant and Jenny for her pailful 
Of spilt milk had a lesson got, had she but understood it. 

Walking from Gommersdorf to Brettacu (Wuuttemberg), Oct. 23 — 24, 1855. 


His master dead, poor Snap with troubled eye 
Looks earnest in my face and asks me : Why V 
"Ask me not, Sn4p ; thou know'st as much as I." 

Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 7, 1855. 

(jOETHE, thou sAy'st a poem was never good 
Unless 'twas written 6n some pat occasion — 
Agreed : thy poems are legion ; for how many, 
Say, on a poet's faith, hadst p4t occasion? 

Walking from Brettach to Weinsberg (Wurttemberg) , Oct. 24, 1855. 



What! spoil the lady's album with thine ink^ 
The beautiful, new album! Sir, just think: 
Those vellum pages so superbly bound 
Unsullied as they stand are worth a Pound, 
Filled Avith the riffraff of the poet's thought 
They 're well sold at an auction for a groat. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 3, 1855. 




Iell me; Julius"' — once said Cassius 
As lie walked in Rome with Cesar, 
Chatting upon various topics, 
And they both as yet were young men — 

'^Thou 'rt a wise lad, and I 'm less shy 
To enquire of thee than Cato — 
Whither, when it leaves the body, 
Think'st thou, Julius, does the soul go?" 

^^Soiil go, Caius?" answered Cesar^ 
"Soul go without limbs or body? 
Soul have voluntary motion 
Without moving apparatus?" 

"Well, perhaps I Ve used too strong word, 
And what goes must be corporeal, 
Biit it feels, the soiil feels, Julius, 
After it has left the body?" 

"To be sure; feels without senses, 
Se^s without eyes, hears without ears. 
Smells without nose, tastes without tongue - 
What 's come over thee, good Cains?" 

2 2 2 

'^I had better have askf^d Cato, 
Thou \'t so hard up6n me, Julius, 
Biit thou 'It not den^ the soul knows 
After it has left the body." 

"Knows without brain, mean'st thou Caius? 
Knows without nerves or sensorium? 
Knows, though knowing 's but impression, 
Or deduction from impression?" 

"Well, I care not, so thou grant'st nie 
What I think thou 'It grant me, Julius, 
That the soul survives the body, 
Lives on in a world beyond this." 

"Lives, thou mean'st, although it hasn't one 
Property to life belonging, 

Though it doesn't move, though it doesn't know, 
Though it doesn't feel, though it — doesn't live! 

"I 'm content, and wish thee all joy, 
Caius , of the rich reversion ; 
f '11 take this world, thou the next take; 
What think'st of the bargain, Caius?" 

6f the bargain what thought Cassius, 
If his grave smile showed not that day, 
In the Curia, long years after 
On the Ides of March, his steel showed. 

Carlsruue , Nov. 11, 1S55. 

32 3 




Prom^itheus' theft in these dry chips lies hid: 
Woiildst thou convinced be^ rub one on the lid. 

"Weinsbebg (Wurttemberg) , Sept. 22, 1855. 

Othello says: Thy purse is trash; 
Trust in thy good name, not thy cash. 
But I say: Thy good name '3 but trash 
if in thy purse there is no cdsh. 

GiEBELSTADT near Wurzburg, Oct. 21, 1855. 

So many maps, guides, signposts point the way 
To the next world, I scarce can go astray 
This side the frontier; but, the barrier past. 
And firm foot set on the strange soil at last, 
I 'm in a fix, whither to turn, what do. 
So inexperienced I, all round so new — 
Oh for some trusty Murray in my hand. 
Some Red Book m, not td, the unknown land! 

GoTHA, Oct. 12, 1855. 


As I walked by the hedge 
Of my own Truelove's garden. 
An hour before sunset 
One fine summer evenings 
And thought of my Love^, 

I saw through the hedge, 
Where the hazel was thinnest, 
Something white in the arbour, 
And stood still and listened/' 
And wished 'twere my Love. 

Nothing stirred but my heart; 

I drew nearer, still listening, 

And nearer and nearer, 

And half through the hedge pressed, 

And saw 'twas my Love. 

The long, streaming golden rays 
Lit up the arbour, 
And painted more rosy 
More damask than ever 
The cheek of my Love, 

2 i :, 1 .") 

As there without bonnet, 
Her head on her arm laid, 
Her arm on the table, 
In the rustic chair sitting 
Slept Liddy; my Love. 

I could see her breast heaving, 
Almost hear her breathing; 
In her lap lay the nosegay 
Which early that morning 
I had sent to my Love. 

How it happened I scarce know 
Or what 'twas that happened, 
But, in one minute after, 
I found myself stealing 
Away from my Love; 

Back stealing on tiptoe, 
As noiseless as shadow, 
Or fly that had just sipped 
And flew away light from 
The lips of my Love. 

I might have staid longer, 
I might have pressed harder, 
I might have more noise made. 
She had still not awakened, 
Sly Liddy, my Love! 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 9, 1855. 



QUI VI 8. 

(Juilibet! Quilibet! 

That so honorest Schiller^ 

So Virgil adorest^ 

Quilibet! tell me why 

Thou 'rt so mighty unlike both. 


Ask Horace why wasn't he 
The ditto of Virgil; 
Ask Goethe why was he 
The opposite of Schiller; 
Ask the Needle why isn't it 
The Pole which it points to ; 
Ask Damon why hasn't he 
The features of Phillis; 
And then come and ask me 
Why I on the pipes play 
And leave horn and trumpet 
To Virgil and Schiller. 

Carlsruhe, Doc. 13, 1855. 

Pleasure lives not one instant — expires in the birth; 
The rose which thou 'st just plucked; see! is it not broken? 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 18, 1855. 

2 2 7 15 

Give us beauty — we care not for strength — 
Messieurs poets and painters and sculptors." 
Fair and softly^ good friends , know ye not 
That withoiit strength there never was beauty? 

There may without beauty be strength, 
And I need not of Polypheme tell ye; 
But strength 's the substratum of beauty. 
And Apollo 's as strong as he 's handsome. 

^^But to Venus, weak Venus, what say'st thou?" 
Again, my good friends, fair and softly; 
See where blooming, strong, healthy and wellmade. 
Up the garden walk, bounding, comes Nanny. 

Carlsbuhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 

Every thing tells on crime; the prince that kissed 

The miller's maid was through the village hissed. 

For his black cloth the gentleman betrayed; 

And in the palace lackeys 4t his back 

Tittered to see the white upon the black. 

And whispered: — "Pretty is the miller's maid." 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 



Iheke was once a queer fellow 
WhO; all his life long, 
Walked, stood, danced, sat or lay- 
On the top of his grave; 
He ploughed it and hoed it 
And dug it and sowed it 
And reaped it and mowed it. 
And gathered his harvest 
And threshed it and edt it 
And brewed it and drank it, 
And merrily lived. 
And merrily lived 
On the top of his grave. 

And his son did the same, 
And his son's son the same. 
And his sons' sons for ever. 
They all did the same, 
And, as long as they lived. 
Walked, stood, danced, sat or lay 
On the top of their grave. 
And ploughed it and hoed it 
And dug it and sowed it 
And reaped it and mowed it, 

i. -i 9 

And giitlicred lljcir harvest 

And threshed it and eat it 

And brewed it and drank it, 

And merrily lived. 

And merrily lived 

On the top of their grave. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 7, 1855. 

IHE sun shines on me all the day, 
The moon and stars the livelong night; 
How long , hardhearted ! miist I pray 
For one blink of those eyes so bright? 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 7, 1855. 

lO William, half in jest and half in earnest 

Said Rose, one day: — ^^On which side lies the heart?'' 

^^For (5thers I can't say, Rose," answered William, 

^^But my heart 's always on the side next thee." 

^^But when I 'm far away — far from thee, William — 

On which side then beats thy deserted heart?" — 

Said Rose arch smiling — ^'^that I 'd fain know, William." 

^^That question," replied William, '^none can answer 

So well as Rose herself, who never leaves me 

But she takes with her too this foolish heart." 

CARLsuniE, Dec. 15, 1855. 

2 an 

Man 's a hammer^ thou say'st^ made to hammer hard nature 
Into all sorts of tempers^ shapes^ sizes and fashions — 
May be so; but^ for my part, I think he 's an anvil. 
And nature a hammer that keeps battering on him; 
If you ask, for what purpose? I own I don't know. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 11, 1855. 

oHADOW 's never far from sunshine, 
Night is never far from day. 

Pain treads in the steps of pleasure, 
Never is the whole year May. 

Sunshine 's never far from shadow, 
Day is never far from night. 

Pain is f611owed still by pleasure. 

Snow makes not the whole year white. 

Mog's perpetual sighing tires me, 
Meg's eternal smile 's as bad; 

Give me Moll who 's always changing. 
Not long merry, not long sad. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 16, 1855. 

•2H I 


Jarvie Time! Jarvie Time! 
Thou who all this long morning 
So crawl'dst at a snail's pace — 
Whom I couldn't get for prayers 
Or for hWe or for money 
To shake thy reins brisker 
Or crack thy lash louder 
Or whip thy nags smarter — 
What 's come over thee now? 
Jarvie Time ! Jarvie Time ! 

What 's come over thee now, 
In the still of the evening, 
When I 'd fain look aboiit me 
And take my convenience 
And draw my breath easy, 
That thou sett'st to to gallop 
As if thou wert striving 
To overtake Grilpin 
Or catch the last train? 
Jarvie Time! Jarvie Time! 

Hast thou no taste for beauty? 
Just look round about thee: 
How smiling the landscape! 
How pleasant the evening! 
Tlie folks all how happy! 

2 3 2 

What is it that ails theeV 
What means this hot haste? 
Jarvie Time ! Jarvie Time ! 

That 's the Blue Bell we 're passings 

The door stands wide open^ 

The horses' trough 's ready^ 

The landlady 's famous 

For cold pies and wine; 

And the landlady's daughter — 

O Jarvie^ the daughter! 

Let thy poor^ smoking cattle 

Draw breath for a moment; 

We '11 arrive soon enough, 

Jarvie Time ! Jarvie Time ! 

Art thou deaf? art thou bothered? 
Or hast thou a siip in? 
Or art thou gone quite mad? 
Or is 't a mere frolic? — 
But I see it 's in vain all. 
Plain waste of breath talking; 
So this once take thine own way. 
This once — but, by Jehu! 
Thou 'It have ledrned to go easy 
And mind what 's said to thee, 
Ere inside thy hackney 
Thou catch me again, 
Jarvie Time ! Jarvie Time ! 

Carlsruiie, Dec. 9, 1855. 


IHAT man 's worth millions ^ but that man 's unworthy; 

That worthy man, there, 's scarcely worth a groat; 

That man worth millions is a man worth knowing, 

But he 's a man unworthy of thy friendship ; 

That worthy man is worthy of thy friendship, 

But that same worthy man is not worth knowing; 

So, till he 's something worth, it makes small difference 

Whether a man is worthy or unworthy; 

And when he 's something w^orth it makes small difference 

Whether a man is worthy or unworthy, 

So rarely do the worthy get their due, 

And the unworthy get their due so rarely. 

Carlsruiie, Dec. 25, 1855. 



As long as thou faithfully lov'st me, 
I promise I '11 truly love thee. 


And I to love thee will cease never 

Even though thou shouldst cease to love me. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 30, 1S55. 

2 34 

In this apple 's a core, in that core there 's a pippin, 
In that pippin a scarcely perceptible germ, 
Which, give it but time enough, shall be a great tree 
With sweet -smelling blossoms and rich, golden fruit, 
And wide - spreading branches, beneath which shall sit 
On fine summer evenings our children's grandchildren 
And talk of their grandfathers' fathers and say: — 
^^Ah! where are those now who this tree's pippin sowed?" 
And some one among them shall answer and say: — 
^^They 're where we ourselves were on that very day 
When they sowed this tree's pippin, and where we shall be 
When this tree's apple's pippin shall be a great tree 
With sweet -smelling blossoms and rich, golden fruit. 
And our children's grandchildren shall sit in its shade 
And say: — ^^ Where are those n6w who once sowed this tree's 

pippin ? " 
Carlskuhe, Dec. 30, 1855. 



ii T,1 

TiXPERiENCE is a better teacher, friend. 
Than lecturer or book; learn from Experience." 
Yes; but Experience writes in hieroglyphics. 
Which to explain needs lecturer and book. 

Carlsuuhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 



Might sentinels that see me creep 
To my Love while others sleep^ 
Tell not on me: what I do 
's no unaccustomed sight to you. 

Other reason Sol had none^ 

Mars and Venus to tell 6n^ 

Biit that to his eyes was new 

What 's mere matter of course to you. 

On your silence 1 rely. 

Faithful watchmen of the sky^ 

And that you '11 let no one pry^ 

Let no one pry — 

^^Hist; Love! hist!" — All 's right; good bye. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 7, 1855. 

If thou wouldst please the Gods thou must contrive 
To let them know thou 'st not the best side out; 
If thou wouldst please mankind thou must not let them 
Suspect thou 'rt one jot better than thou seem'st. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 


"Einstweileii bis den Ban der Welt 
Philosophie zusammenhalt, 
Erhiilt sie das CJetriebe 
Durch Hunger und durch Liebe." 

Schiller, Die Weltweisen. 

So it 's hunger and love keep all going — 
Very well^ that 's a secret worth knowing; 
But methinks this great world were a rare show 
Without money to make the old mare go. 

Carlsbuhe, Dec. 31, 1855. 

He 's not a wise man thinks much of the past; 

A man that 's wise thinks little of the future ; 

There is no present, only past or future, 

Therefore a man that 's wise, though always thinking, 

Thinks little about present, past, or future. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 16, 1855. 



IF thou 'rt as bad as we, walk in, we pray; 
If better — Sir, we wish thee a good day. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 


OEE where on the coachbox seated; 
Reins in left hand^ whip in right^ 
Jehu lip hill careless chirrups, 
Down hill cautious holds all tight. 

Every where there is a Jehu, 
On the land and on the sea, 
In the cottage, in the palace, 
Some one still to cry : wo ! gee ! 

i 'm a Jehu; gentle readers, 
Yoii 're my spanking four - in - hand ; 
Tsit! tsit! off we g6 at gallop — 
Wo! draw up! so! steady! stand! 

Sonnie too, he is a Jehu, 
With his lashes and his top ; 
And below there is a Jehu; 
And above — ^^Good poet, stop!" 

Carlsruhe, Dec. J 3, 1855. 

2 3 8 


Farewell for ever^ and sometimes a sigh 
Heave when thou think'st of him beyond the sea. 


Farewell for ever^ and if thou must sigh 

When thou of me think'st ^ think no more of me. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 30, 1855. 

MODEST; mild^ unpretending, observant, inventive, 
The pen goes before, finds and points out the way, 
Measures, calculates, plans, pioneers, counts expenses. 
And is left, for reward, to its own conscious merit. 
Fierce, insolent, riide, devastating and criiel. 
The sword swaggers after, hacks, hews, stabs and slashes. 
And gets all the laurels and bo6ty and praise. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 19, 1855. 


All the good which we see in this world proves God's goodness. 


To be sure ! and his badness is proved by the bad. 
Carlsruhe, Dee. 15, 1855. 

'2 31> 

Arabella my song read, 
And said 'twas mere water - 
Ah^ why hadn't I courage 
To tell Arabella; 
She had but to sing it 
To turn it to wine! 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 11, 1855. 


CARLSRUHE , NOV. 19, 1855. 

I 'm so anxious to know whether your bad tooth 's better, 
I can't put off writing till my bad tooth 's better. 
But send me word only that your bad tooth 's better, 
And you send me a charm will make my bad tooth better. 

See yonder stately, spreading tree, 
Loaded with fragrant flower and fruit, 
And neither for its own behoof — 
What is it like? alas! a poet. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 




IWO angels, separate or together, pay me 

Occasional visits; of the fallen crew one, 

The other, of the race that still stands upright. 

Hideous the face, and terrible to hear 

The voice and footstep of the fallen one coming. 

And while he stays ; but beautiful his hindparts, 

And sweetest music his departing step. 

And sweeter still and sweeter, as more distant. 

The other's face is lovely, and the sound 

Of his approaching step more than the hum 

Of honey- gathering bee delights the ear, 

Or song of lark or- note of early cuckoo, 

But odious to the eye his hinder parts. 

And on the ear jars his departing step. 

Neither stays long, nor long remains away; 

Neither the other loves, and though they come 

Sometimes together, offcener they come separate. 

Alike in winter's cold and summer's heat, 

By day and night alike, they pay their visits, 

No less when I 'm awake and up, than when 

In bed I lie wrapped in the arms of sleep. 

Ml 16 

After I 'm dead and buried I shall have 

The company, they say, of one for ever^ 

Of which they know not, and from that hour never 

Of the other hear the voice or see the face — 

They say ! — Poor souls ! they know not what they say 5 

Once dead; farewell for ever to both angels ! 

Carlsrthe, Dec. 24, 1S55. 

IHOU hatest monotony — Right; 
Uniformity still more thou hatest — 
Right again; but remember, Louisa, 
Thou 'rt engaged to be married tomorrow. 

^^Just because I monotony hate, 
Just because uniformity still more 
I hate and have all my life hated, 
I 'm engaged to be married tomorrow." 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 13, 1855. 



The outside rind, grown brown and chapped by time. 
Tells you the kernel has just reached its prime. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 31, 1855. 


FORGrET never to hold thyself evenly balanced. 
Thou that skatest Prosperity's smooth ice along; 
Where the ice is the thickest the fall is the hardest, 
And where thinnest the ice. Ah! the water is near. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 

WELL! great poets don't always the best sense indite! 

I have jiist read in Goethe this world won't go right 

As long as there 's wine or women in it — * 

Just as if without wine 

I could possibly dine, 

Or without Mary Anne live one minute. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 

What a pity thou 'rt childless ! thou 'dst been a kind parent 
To the worst of thy children. "Why? or how know'st thou 

Don't I see thine indulgence even to thy worst faults, 
For no reason under heaven but because they 're thine own? 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 27, 1855, 

* "Giib's mir keineii Wein 
Uiul keini' Weibeitliraneii ! " 

Goethe, Stossieulzor. 

2 4.1 16 




We forget what 's behind us^ 
Can't see what 's before us, 
And aboiit what 's around us 
Know little. 


The elements o'erpower us^ 
Fierce passions devour us, 
We must die, yet to die fear 
And tremble. 


So join all to praise him who 
Could wiser and better 
And happier have made us, 
And — didn't. 

Carlsruhe, Dec, 15, 1855. 

l'vo)Ot atavrov. 

IHERE it iS; Ma!" said Ciipid, showing Venus a thorn 
He 'd got out of his thumb with much poking and squeezing; 
"Who 'd have thought such a small thing could give so much 

"Art thou s6 very big then," said Venus , "thyself?" 

Carlshuhe, Dec. 10, 1S55. 


No! no! 110 ! 1 '11 not believe it, 
Thoii 'rt not Liddy, the same Liddy 
Whom long years ago I so loved, 
Wooed and won and made mine own of. 

See! thy cheek is brown and wrinkled; 
Liddy's cheek was smo6th as velvet 
And as fresh a white - and - red as 
May's unfolding apple -blossom. 

Liddy's hair was long and auburn, 
Thy hair 's thin and short and grizzled; 
Liddy's teeth, what rows of fine pearls! 
Thine, these few odd pegs of boxwood. 

Liddy's voice was like the linnet's. 
Of the corncrake's thine reminds me; 
Liddy stepped like forest wild doe, 
Thou thy ankles hast in shackles. 

No! no! no! thou 'rt not that Liddy, 
Not the young man's gay, young Liddy; 
No ! no ! no ! thou art the old man's 
Better, wiser, dearer liiddy. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 14, 1855. 




I wisH to God I had been born some hundred years or thousand 
Ere Christ came down to fright us with his stories of the Devil^ 
And pen us up^ like silly sheep ; under the care of shepherds 
To guard us well from ghost and fiend and shear us for their 

trouble : 
Then I 'd gone down to Charon's wharf led by the hand by 

And with the obolus in my mouth fared jollily Styx over, 
And, stretched at ease upon the grass in happy, old Elysium, 
Enjoyed myself in rational talk with Socrates and Plato, 
And had small loss of heaven and hell, the saints and the 


Walkiuj^ from Liejienzell to Langenbuand (Wukttembeug), Nov. 4, 1855. 

When thlnk'st thou will all men be of one opinion?" 
As soon as in all the world there 's but one man. 

Carlsruhk, Dec. 31, 1855. 

2 10 


I TENDERLY 16ve thcB; and pledge thee my troth, 
And swear before Heaven to change never. 


Sheer nonsense thine oath, if thou meanest thou 'It never 
Do the impossible thing, change thyself; 

And sheer nonsense no less, if thou meanest that never 
Shall the adequate outside force change thee. 

Caklsruhe, Dec. 29, 1855. ^ 


1 SWEAR what I know, that I tenderly love thee; 

What I don't know I don't swear, to love thee for ever. 


Swear not that thou lov'st me, I know it already. 

But swear what I don't know, thou 'It love me for ever. 

Carlskuhe, Jan. 23, 1856. 



Two things there are called love : th' internal feelings 

Instinct or passionate impulse ^ dims amor^ 

And the external object ;, alma venus, 

Which rouses in the mind its slumbering amor. 

In all the outward world there 's not one object 

But may awake in some one mind its amor^ 

And for the nonce be of that mind the venus, 

The Laura of that Petrarch ; till the mind; 

Changed from within ^ or 'tmdy be^ from without^ 

(For either or both ways all minds are always, 

Morning and noon and night, sleeping and waking, 

Summer and winter, Always always changing) 

Opens the door no longer to the call, 

Or, if it opens, answers: Not at home; 

Upon a journey, sick or dead is amor. 

But not upon a journey, sick or dead 

Is amor, but at home, snug, and still ready 

To answer joyful to its venus' call. 

Provided only 'tis its venus calls. 

And not that which has ceased to be its venus. 

Away then with the vow of love perpetual, 

Or be the only thing which changes not. 

Though all the time thou 'rt that which changes most. 

In all this living, and, or 'twere not living. 

Perpetually restless, changing world. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 26, IS55, 

24 8 



1 HERE are two beauties : one the external k a 1 o n ; 

The other the sweet sentiment of beauty 

Raised in the mind by that external kalon. 

In all the multitudinous variety 

Of minds and objects in this infinite world 

There 's not a mind but finds some beauteous object^ 

There 's not an object but finds some one mind 

In which to excite the sentiment of beauty. 

Go to ! go to ! ye small philosophers^ 

Teachers of positive beauty^ who know not 

That whatsoever raises in one mind^ 

One single mind^ the most uncultivated, 

The sentiment of beauty, that is beauty 

As truly as was ever Plato's kalon. 

Vain, vain, your legislation; ye cannot 

Set up a Rene court to say what 's beauty. 

And dictate to the mind how it shall feel. 

Make, if ye please, societies to adore 

This or that beauty, and be ye the priests ; 

Mind is above your sects, and forms of faith. 

And what it beautiful or ugly feels, 

That beautiful or ugly is , despite ye. 

Caklsbuhk, Dec. 26, 1855. 


Othello first loved Desdemona; then hated; 

In both he was acted on, acted in neither: 

He went down on his knees and vowed always to love her; 

Fool, that knew not to love was to suffer, not do ! 

He swore with uplifted hand, always to hate her; 

Fool, that knew not to hate was to suffer, not do! 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 29, 1855. 

Put thy faith in the miracle, friend; 
Unimpeachable witnesses many 

Testify to its truth." 
Shall I then from the mouth of another 
Accept that as fact, which I wouldn't 

From mine own eyes accept? 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 25, 1855. 

2 .') 

iHE embryo in the womb or newly born 

Has no mind — scarce even stuff enough to make one; 

The fragrance is not shut up in the bud 

But by the bud formed gradual^ as it opens. 

Tlie mind 's the effluence of the perfect body, 

The essential fragrance of the full blown flower. 

Carlsruhe. Dec. 31, 1855. 

"Und er wirft ihr den Handschiih ins Gesicht." 

Schiller, Der Handschuii. 

And so into Kiinigund's lovely face. 

Sir Delorges, thou threwest the glove! 

Must thou be ungallant because she was baseV 
Kunigund had small loss of thy love. 

Carusruhb, Dec. 14, 1855. 


Man with sagacious forethought penetrates 
Into the secrets of the days to come^ 
Holds with retentive memory the past^ 
And all things round him to his use adapts 
With wonderworking wisdom, skill and power^ 
And reigns on earth, a God; until perchance 
A pin his finger prick, or a cold wind 
Blow in his face, and then, poor man ! he dies, 
And sadly goes to heaven — to reign again. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 12, 1855. 

May I beg to ask why thou preferrest me. Muse! 

To so many who re wiser and better? 
^^I don't know; I m not sure; but I Ve heard people say 

That truelove 's of truelove the begetter." 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 30, 1855. 


■I r. 2 


Farewell! and though thou tak'st not with thee all 

The weight of sorrow thou brought'st with thee, coming/ 

But tak'st instead some of my bodily strength, 

Some of my latest dark hairs and skin's freshness, 

Yet go in peace; for thou hast left untouched 

My nobler part, and what thou 'st taken from me 

In thew and color, paid me in my child, 

I cannot say with an illiberal hand. 

Go then in peace; I '11 think of thee at times, 

Perhaps at times regret thee — fare thee well! 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 30, 1855. 



IHOU 'rt welcome^ stranger! enter^ and the place 

Fill; while thou stdy'st^ of thy departed brother; 

Not wholly good was he, nor wholly bad; 

A mixture like myself of strong and weak. 

Of worse and better; but no more of him^ 

He 's gone not to return; and thou com'st now 

With thy fair promises of perfect goodness. 

Well well; we '11 see; thou too shait have thy trial; 

And when we come to part that will be knowledge 

Which now 's no more than mingled hope and fear; 

Meanwhile step in, and let 's be better acquainted. 

Carlsruhe, Dec. 30, 1855. 

'/ 5 i 

Art thou happy? look not backward 
On the joys thou 'st left behind thee; 
Art thou happy? look not forward 
To the end of all joy coming. 

Art thou wretched? then look backward 
On the pain thou 'st left for ever; 
Art thou wretched? then look forward 
To the end of all pain coming. 

Art thou happy both and wretclied, 
Look about thee^ round on all sides; 
What seest thou but others like thee, 
Wretched partly, partly happy? 

Without Happy there 's no Wretched, 
Without Wretched there 's no Happy; 
There 's a true Heaven and a true Hell, 
And thou hast them both already. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 5, 1856. 



r IE y Goethe ! I knew not untiFtoday 

Thou wast given to migrate out of thy fair palace 

And take thy lodging in a filthy sty — 

Fie, Goethe! from henceforth we 're less good friends; 

And yet ere now I have at times suspected 

Thou wast not all gold, often missed in thee 

The clang of the pure metal, often spied 

The diisk hue of the copper at thy rim. 

Perhaps even therefore art thou the more current, 

For not who has fewest faults or greatest virtues 

Always most pleases, but whose mind to ours 

Closest assimilates ; perhaps even therefore 

Hast thou attracted so the not too fine 

Discerning, or requiring, princely eye. 

And by the princely eye been so attracted — 

A socio noscitur, and like to like — 

And in more courts than Weimar's have been blended 

The odours of the sty and the parterre. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 6, 1850. 




Air: — "The Last Rose of Summer.*' 

lis the first rose of summer^ shy peeping half-bloAvn, 
And scarcely quite siire yet^ the cold winter 's gone; 
Fear nothings new comer; there 's no danger nigh — 
Every day the air 's softer, and brighter the sky. 

Thou shalt not long hang lonely, shalt not long thy bloom 
Singly spread to the siin, singly shed thy perfume, 
For I see yonder coming, like thee fresh and fair, 
Thy sisters in clusters to ad()rn the parterre. 

With them bloom together, with them fade and die; 
And so, lovely rose, may my heart's friends and I, 
When we 've happy together the long summer passed. 
Together drop into the earth's lap at last. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 8, 1856. 


Ye almost make a God of Sol, 
Who biit by day gives light; 

What worthy praise have ye for me. 
Who into day turn night? 

Carlsruhk, Jan. 27, 1856. 

257 17 

IHE Agitating problem — which of all 

Imaginable forms of government 

Is surest^ happiest^ permanentest, best^ 

And to what form of government will dll men 

Give truest; readiest^ joyfullest adhesion — 

Thou solvest only on the day on which 

Thou solv'st the previous question ^ which the form 

To every individual assures — 

^^Most happiness?" No; I 'm in downright earnest. 

"Most liberty?" If thou must jest; jest on. 

"I own, I 'm at a loss; go on, I 'm dumb — " 

Most absolute control over the actions^ 

Words, and most secret thoughts^ of all the rest. 

Carlsruhe, .Jan. 14, 1856. 

r ROM blank nought to the womb, from the womb to the cradle, 
From the cradle to school, and from school to the mill — 
There to grind, till it 's weary, bread, honor, or riches — 
To the sick chamber then and sick bed, and at Idst 
To a box and the blank nought from which first it cdme. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 17, 1856. 


Of three dear maids ^ wliose lovely faces 

You 'd swear were borrowed from the Graces, 

Which I like best 'twere hard to say, 

So perfect each one in her way. 

There 's Mary Anne, delightful girl! 

With cheeks of roses, teeth of pearl. 

Laughing blue eyes and auburn hair 

And such a w^inning, witching air — 

Poor, inexperienced heart, beware. 

And, ere thou 'rt quite caught, look elsewhere; 

Look at Matilda's form and mien^ 

Where upon earth were lovelier seen? 

Matilda's step, Matilda's voice — 

Well, it 's a cruel thing a choice. 

Ah ! could I but my heart divide 

Each should of one half be the bride. 

Castles in Spain! and if I could. 

And if I dare, think'st thou I would. 

And not keep one whole third for thee, 

Sly, roguish, black -eyed Emily? 

What! won't a third do? come, don't pout, 

Thou shalt the whole have; time about. 

My whole, whole heart impartially 

I '11 give to each one of the three; 

Each day a different queen shall reign. 

Each day I '11 wear a different chain; 



Tomorrow I 'm jMatilda's own^ 
Next day^ dear Mary Anne's alone. 
Today; I 'm thine ^ sweet Emily^ 
Today^ do what thou lik'st with me^ 
Today I live for only thee. 

Caulsruhe, Jan. 21, 1856. 


Bad verses, Sir poet; there never were worse. 


I 'ra sorry to hear it; but deal with these gently, 
Next time I '11 do better. 


You flatter yourself. 


Nay, I 'm quite sure — for, next time, I '11 get you to help me. 
Carlsruhe, Jan. 28, 1856. 

Here I 4m, your thimblerigger, kind gentlemen and ladies; 
Put your money down; now guess; see! it 's an empty thimble. 
^^You cheat! you scamp! you tramp! you vagabond! you 

Try your luck again, good friend; see there! this time you 're 

winner — 
Who 's cheat and scamp and trdmp, now, and vagabond and 


Carlsruue, Jan. 20, 1856. 



When every one of' us has got his just rights, 

And the price of land 's fixed at three halfpence an acre, 

And bread is for nothing and butter for less, 

And lacqueys and jarvies drive in their own coaches. 

And housemaids hold drawingrooms , streetsweepers levees, 

And the clerk and the sexton wear lawn sleeves and mitre. 

And every one teaches and nobody learns, 

And boys are all grown men, and misses all ladies. 

We 11 join heart and hand some fine morning together 

And lay hold on that wicked witch, old mother Nature, 

And pelt her with rotten eggs, duck her and souse her 

Till she cries out ^^Peccavi!" and swears by St. Simon, 

Louis Blanc, and Mazzini, to expel from her grammar 

All degrees of comparison — good, bad, and middling. 

And higher and lower, and greater and smaller — 

And from thenceforth for ever in all her dominions 

Have all things as equal as eggs in a basket. 

Or peas on a trencher, or hairs on a pig's tail, 

And gives us a pledge that she 's downright in earnest. 

By abolishing, instantly and on the spot. 

The absurd and invidious and aristocratic, 

Oppressive distinction of right hand and left. 

Carlsruiie, Jan. 3, 1856. 

21) I 

The great R6man dictator; his baldness to hide, 
Bound his temples with laurel; thou, wiser, dictate not, 
And thy baldness to hide thou mayst spdre even the laurel. 

Caklsruhe, Jan. 1, 1856. 

All Cesars since Julius have worn the laur'l wreath. 
Because bald like him? or because the laur'l wreath 
Has the virtue to cover more eyesores than baldness? 

Carlskuhe, Jan. 1, 1856. 

Come, my friends, let 's enjoy the good things of this world. 
Eat our roast, crack our joke, take our ease, drink our bottle. 
And be right jolly fellows, true souls, friendly brothers. 
Bottle nosed, copper cheeked, hanging lipped, and bald pated, 
Round paunched, oily skinned, gouty footed and handed. 
Coarse minded, fine palated, choleric, and short breathed, 
And to die on a sudden and quite fill the coffin. 

Cablsruhe, Jan. 5, 1856. 




DAD iambics, Sir Poet. In place of this trochee 
Thou hast h^re in thy first place, please put an iambus, 
And at the line's end amputate without mercy 
That half- foot superfluous. 


Nay; aren't they both beauties? 


To be sure; but not therefore the less against rule. 


What rule 's above beauty? 


The line can't be scanned. 


And needn't; I write, not for scanners, but readers. 


'Twere well readers scanned every line which they redd. 


When they do, I '11 begin to make regular feet; 
Until then I '11 content me with beautiful verses. 

Caulsruhe, Jan. 17, 1856. 

2 P.I 

oO here 's at 14st the long expected letter! 
What news? How are they all? alive or dead? 
Happy or sorrowful? Ah! he who first 
Received, and broke the seal, and read a letter 
From his far absent friends, needed more courage, 
Horace, * than he who first in a frail boat 
Trusted his life upon the uncertain waves. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 31, 185(5. 

On roll the years, leaves wither and leaves grow, 
Suns rise and set, and winds alternate blow. 
Moist follows dry and heat succeeds to cold. 
Our sires are in their graves and we grow old ; 
Inquire not why: enough for thee to know 
It is and was and will be always so; 
Wise- seeming questions still were folly's mask. 
Turn happier thou, and ply thy daily task. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 27, 1856. 

* "Illi robur et aes triplex 

Circa pectus erat, qui frap^ilein truci 

Commisit pelago ratern 


HoR. 0(1. I. X 


''Heaven, I thdnk thee f6r this fine night:" 
Mary said; as, from her window 
Looking out; she saw the deep sea 
Placid shimmering in the moonlight; 

Mary's thoughts are of her William 
Home returning from the Indies : — 
^^At yon full moon is he gazing; 
As the midnight deck he paces?" 

Mary 's gone to bed and sleeps sound 
When she has prdyed a prayer for William; 
William's sleep that night is sounder 
At the bottom of the ocean. 

Carlsbuhe, Jan. 18, 1850. 

Of all flowers in the world; pretty daisy; to me 

Thou 'rt the dearest and saddest, 
For alone of all fl6wers in the world; pretty daisy; 

Thou deck'st Anna's grave. 

Carlsrtjhe, Jan. 26, 1856. 

2 5 

Joy and sorrow are Equally passive; forced on thee 
Irresistibly both from without; be consistent 
And call neither suffering; or suffering call both; 
The difference between the two sufferings is only 
That thou likest the one, and the other dislikest. 

Caklsruhe, Jan. 17, 1856. 


IWO things there are which you may safely say 
When with your friend you meet: "It 's a fine day" 
And '^How do you do?" The news to ask or tell 
You may too venture should you know him well. 
Each further word is dangerous, if you 'd sleep 
Soundly at night, and dear friends dear friends keep. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 22, 1856. 

The clever man the rule makes, which the fool, 
Childish obeying, spends his life at school. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 17, 1856. 



Air: — "The Meeting of the Waters." 

IHERE is not in all Chedpside a teapot so nedt 

As that teapot round which night and morning we meet; 

Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 

Ere the shine of that teapot shall fade from my heart. 

It is not that art o'er that teapot has shed 
Her deepest of purple and brightest of red; 
'Tis not the soft odours that from it distil, 
Oh no ! it is something more exquisite still ; 

'Tis that saucers and ciips on the board are displayed, 
Cream, sugar, and butter, and toast ready made, 
And that never so dear even my dearest to me. 
As when we 're all happy together at tea. 

Sweet Dalkey- Lodge teapot, how calm could I rest 
Beside thee in thy pantry with those I love best. 
When tea -drinking morning and evening shall cease. 
And our hearts, like thy tealeaves, are mingled in peace. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 9, 1856. 


To a splendid furnished hdli 
Your grammarian 's the door-keeper^ 
Has the latchkey in his pocket. 
Shuts and opens as you bid him, 
But himself sets foot in 't never. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 27, 1856. 

''MiG-NIONETTE in a box! Faugh! it smells of the city 

It 's only in mignionette beds I find fragrance." 

Very well: but to me mignionette in a box 

Than mignionette border or bed 's twice as fragrant, 

For when I look at it I think of the box 

Of sweet mignionette in my Mary Anne's window. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 27, 1856. 

'Do,' said pert, little, witty, tart Isabel once, 
^^Do, I dare thee, an epigram make upon me." 
^^ Don't dare me," said I; ^^'twouldn't be the first time, 
I 'd an epigram even on an epigram made." 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 3, 1856. 



Air: — The Bard's Legacy. 

When in death I shall calm recline^ 
Oh! bear my watch to my mistress dear; 
Tell her I rose when it pointed Nine^ 
On every morning all round the year. 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 
To sully a gem so precious and bright, 
But a pocket of crimson velvet borrow, 
And hang it beside her bed every night. 

When the light of mine eyes is o'er, 

Take my specs to Optician's Hall, 

And let the porter that answers the door. 

Show them to all that happen to call. 

Then if some bard, who roams forsaken. 

Should beg a peep through them in passing along, 

Oh ! let one thought of their master awaken 

Your warmest smile for the child of song. 

Keep this inkbottle, now o'erllowing. 
To write your letters when I 'm laid low; 
Never, Oh ! never one drop bestowing 
On any who how to write don't know. 
But if some pale, wan -wasted scholar 
Shall dip his goosequill at its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around shall hover. 
And hallow each jet black drop for him. 

Carlshuhe, Jan. 9, 1856. 



OHE blushed, and yet I did not count it Y, 
Nor E though on the ground she bent her eye, 
Nor S although she sighed when she said No — 
Fool! that knew not that maids still spell YES so. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 26, 1856. 


iHou know'st not what liberty is/' to me said 
A red democrat once, with a shake of his head; 
'^I 'm not sure that I do/' replied I, "but let 's see: 
It 's that thou mayst whatever thou lik'st do to me, 
Whilst I am prevented by imprisonment and fine 
From doing to thee what to do I 'd incline." 

Carlsruhe, .Jan. 14, 1856. 

John 's not to my mind, I abominate his lying — 
But William 's far worse with his nothing but truth. 

Carlsruue, Jan. 22, 1856. 


WELL; the world makes biit snail's progress!" 
Thiis to Thomas 6nce said Winiam_, 
As from church home^ on a Sunday, 
Arm in arm they walked together. 

^^How is 't possible the world should 
Make fast progress/' answered Thomas, 
"While we rear our children lip in 
The same errors we were redred in, 
While we teach our children, William, 
Not the truths our lives have taught us, 
But the lies we were brought up in?" 

"Ah, poor children!" Answered William, 
"Let them sport their hour of sunshine; 
Time enough they '11 learn the bldck truth, 
Time enough be wise and wretched." 

"Very well; but while successive 
Generations spend their whole lives 
Still unlearning the same falsehoods. 
How 's the world to make fast progress?" 

Carlsruhe, March 2, 1856. 

2 7 

A FORGET-ME-NOT grew by the side of the brook 
Where Mary went down with her pail to fetch water; 
She laid down her pail, plucked the flower, heaved a sigh, 
And till she came back for 't that day had no water. 

Carlsruiie , Jan. 7, 1856 

Der gelehrte Arbeiter. 
Nimmer labt ilm des Baumes Frucht, den er miihsam erziehet: 
Nur der Geschmack geniesst, was die Gelehrsamkeit pflanzt. 


WRONG! as often, my Schiller; the gardener enjoys more 
In digging and fencing and planting and watering. 
Than the finest taste ever enjoyed in the fruit. 
We all look with pleasure at Tell on thy canvas. 
But thine was the rapture of putting him there. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 2, 1856. 

"Dira cupido." 

Thou wouUlst be happy and know'st not that yvoidd — 
Would^ would alone — keeps thee from being happy. 

Cablsbtjhe, Jan. 24, 1856. 

2 7 2 

Little children, take it kindly 
When your parents fl(3g and chide ye 
For each lie they catch you telling — • 
Little children must not tell lies. 

'^Biit big people often tell lies; 
Why mayn't we do like big people?" 
Just because ye are little children, 
And don't know how to behave yet; 

Don't know how yet to discriminate 
Which are right and which are wrong lies, 
Which lie 's dangerous, which lie safe is, 
Which from God comes, which from Satan. 

^^Biit our parents always say to us: — 
^Ye must never never tell lies.'" 
To be sure; no parents like to 
Have lies told them by their children. 


Every lie ye tell your parents. 

To your parents is an injury; 

How can they their children rule, if 

By their children hoaxed and cheated ? 

2 73 IS 

'^S6 when avc have left our parents, 
And are grown up men and women, 
And our lies no m6re can harm them, 
We may tell lies like grown people?" 

Not a doubt of it ; there 's no harm in 
Doing what 's done by your parents, 
Nurses , teachers and relations ; 
if 'twere wrong they would not do it. 

^^May we say we re not at home then, 
As mamma says when she 's dressing? 
May we say we have got a headache, 
When we are only out of humour? 

^^When a friend comes in to see us, 
May we smile and seem quite happy, 
And the moment he has his back turned, 
Say we scarce could bear the sight of him?" 

Yes yes, all this and as much more, 
Twice as much more, ye may do then. 
And your children, if ye have any. 
Flog for lying, at the same time. 

^SShocking! shocking! we 11 not do it; 
Either we ourselves will speak truth, 
Or at least we will not punish 
Them for doing what ourselves do." 

Carlsruiie, March 9, 1856. 

; I 

2 7 4 

"Quam satiis lapeto, mistam fluvialibus undis, 
Finxit in effigiem moderantum cuncta deorum." 

iHE wise son of Japet made man in God's image 
Japet's far wiser grandson made God in his own. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 25, 1856. 

lOWARD hope's beacon far -gleaming across the wild waters 
Thou that cleavest with strong arm and stout heart thy way, 
Swim on and fear nothing; thou siipp'st with thine Hero, 
Or the deep sea provides thee with supper and bed. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 24, 1856. 

rROM my heart to my head, from my head to my hand, 
From my hand to my pen, from my pen to my paper. 
From my paper to types, and from types to more paper. 
To thine eyes then, and head, and at last to thine heart - 
Dost not wonder, sweet reader, this round-about way 
From my heart to thy heart was ever found out? 

Carlsuuhk, Jan. 2, l^ri(). 

275 IS^ 

He di^d; and the emancipated soul 

Flew upward, upward , till it came to — hell's gate; 

Where it was told, that, having left at night, 

It should have gone down, not have mounted upward, 

For heaven, above all day, by night was downward. 

But the soul being etherial could not sink down 

Through the thick dense air, and but higher rose 

The more it struggled to fly headlong downward. 

So in compassion hell's gate -porter stowed it 

In neighbouring Limbo with unchristened children's 

Innocent helpless spirits, suicides, 

And soiils which, like itself, had gone astray. 

There in asylum safe the tedious time 

To while as best it might till mother church 

Decided how at last to be disposed of 

Convenient Limbo's church -perplexing spirits. 

Carlsruhe, March 19, 1856. 

LVERY day that I live adds to my knowledge 
And from my courage takes; so when I have courage 
It 's of no use to me for want of knowledge. 
And when at long and last I 'm full of knowledge, 
I cannot use it, being in want of courage. 

Carlsruhe, March 21, 1S5G. 


Once on a time a thousand different men 

Together knelt before as many Gods 

Each from the other different as themselves 

Were different each from each^ yet didn't fall out^ 

Or ciit each others' throats amidst their prayers — 

^SStop there! that never happened, or, if it did, 

'Twas by a miracle; or if it happened 

Really and in the way of nature, tell me 

How, where, and when, what kind of men they were, 

What kind of Gods — didn't even the Gods fall out?" 

Not even the Gods; I 11 tell thee how it was; 

But art thou trusty? canst thou keep the secret? 

"Yes yes." Then in thine ear: the thousand Gods 

Had all the selfsame name; so every God, 

Hearing no name invoked except his own. 

Believed that every man of all the thousand 

Worshipped him only; while each one of all 

The thousand worshippers, hearing no name 

Except his own God's name invoked, beliaved 

That every one of all the whole nine hundred 

Ninety and nine worshipped no God but his ; 

So all the thousand men together lived 

In love and peace, as holding the same faith. 

And of the thousand Gods not one was jealous. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 13, 1856. 


Honey here and wormwood there 
But not as each man wishes — 

Honey here and wormwood there 
Are our alternate dishes. 

Carlsruhe, March 10, 1856. 

I DO not wonder I 'm so often told 
That the soul is immortal, grows not old; 
So many people, looking inwards, find 
in their old bodies a still childish mind. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 5, 1856. 

I HATE him, the liar, who with feigned words deceives me. 
And doubly I hate him, the cleverer liar. 
Who, th4t I may not call him liar, deceives me 
Without words — by silence or gesture or look. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 13, 1856. 




Can you tell me who w4s it didn't care for the stage, 
Didn't care for the church, didn't care for his tailor, 
And in his whole house hadn't so much as one razor? 


Why, all the world knows, he that wrote Miso]36gon. 


No; he that wrote — 


Sir, I didn't wish to affront you. 
Carlsruhe, Jan. 26, 1856. 

1 'VE chosen a bad title, I am told; 
Poems philosophical cannot be sold. 
Well! next time I '11 a better title choose. 
And call my poems Philosophic News. 
And if that also fail, why then, next time 
I send into the world a roll of rhyme. 
Mum ! of philosophy, and mum ! of Muse — 
Who will not buy The Telegraph's latest News? 

Carlsruhe, March 21, 1856. 


IRUST in God's providence/' the oyster said 
Just as the dredger packed him in the boat; 
^^ Trust in God's providence/' again he said 
Jiist as the knife prised open his strong coat; 
^^ Trust in God's providence/' third time he said — 
And the plump oyster 's down the bishop's throdt. 

Carlsruhe, March 19, 1856. 


1 THANK thee not for love or admiration, 

For love and admiration both are passions. 

Both sufferings forced upon thee will-ye nill-ye; 

Nor thank me thou if I admire and love thee, 

For on me too are forced alike both passions, 

I being a mere automaton in the matter. 

And turning to or from, as I am pulled. 

So says not every lover, but so acts, 

Means so with every present to his mistress, 

And so, although she says not, means each fair one 

That at the looking-glass adjusts her ribbons. 

Carlsruhe, March 12, 1856. 


If thou wouldst see a passion torn to tatters 

And every tatter torn again to tatters, 

If tliou wouldst see the understanding outraged, 

And the extravagant and impossible acted 

As mild and modest Nature's own commands, 

And canst look steadily upon a bedlam 

Let loose and rdmping — go, read Schiller's Robbers. 

Carlsruhe, March 6, 185G. 




Ji/XAMiNE not, but take it on my word; 

To examine is a crime which God will punish. 


Examine, sift the true out from the false; 

Even for that purpose has God given thee reason. 


To choose between ye were to beg the question; 
Give me a box and dice here, and I 11 throw for 't 

Carlsruhe, March 14, 1856. 



Caklsruhk, Jan. 28, 1850. 

rlE 's gone, the world's gioiving, magniiicent God! 

And left till tomorrow the care of his realms 

To his puny vicegerents, the pale moon and stars. 


What! a poet and not superstitious! 

'Twon't do; 'twon't go down, they can't bear it; 

Go, write metaphysics, and leave them 

To psalms penitential and Pollock. 

Carlsbuhe, Mcarch 12, 1856. 

IT 's a very line thing to be surei, I don't doubt it, 
To have fine parks and houses, fine carriages, horses, 
Fine servants, fine furniture, pantries and cellars. 
Fine pictures, fine statues, fine jewels, fine plate, 
Fine connexions, fine visitors, every thing fine. 
But i '11 live less fine — be so good to allow me — 
And leave others the grandeur and splendor and c^rc. 

Caiil«uuiik , Jan. (>, 1856. 




1 MEASURES of unsunned gold ! 


Where? where? Oh^ where? 
Sh(5w me the pldce; I '11 dig and with thee share. 


Here, read this book; Gods, that the precious prize 
Should lie till now unspied by mortal eyes! 


No word of it here; in vain through all the book, 
From leaf to leaf, from pdge to page, I look. 


Why, it 's in every page and every line; 
Each word 's a signpost pointing to the mine. 


I don't like riddles and still less like jokes. 


My mine of g61d you take then for a hoax; 
And SO it is, if, to a man of sense, 
Between a mine of gold, real difference, 
And the high lesson this book's leaves unfold : 
How to live happy without mine of gold. 

Carlsruhe, Jan. 27, 1856. 



How good must be the author of all goodness ! 


And 6h^ how green the sower of all grass! 
Carlsruhe, Jan. 19, 185(). 


IHERE is no truth but moral truth; th' accordance 
Of the expression with the inward thought; 
And of that truth there 's from its very nature 
No judge but one — the iitterer himself. 
Essential truth ^ th' accordance of th' expression 
With the thing's self^ varies with every judgment, 
John's judgment finding perfect accord there 
Where William's finds but discord, or at best 
Accord imperfect; and not John's alone 
But William's jvidgment too gainsaying Hugh's, 
Hugh's Edward's, Edward's Joseph's, and so on. 
On without end as long as there 's a judgment. 

Go to! go to! then, thoii that seek'st essential. 
Absolute truth; thou hast it at this moment; 
Nay, hadst it when an infant, when a boy. 
As siire as thou shalt have it at fourscore ; 
Nor to thy judgment of fourscore shall seem 
One whit more false the judgment of the boy, 
Than to the b()y the judgment of fourscore. 



To cdcli age, sex and circumstance and station 

Its own particular judgment how accord 

Thing and expression ; and that judgment 's truth - 

Triith to the individual — and the measure 

By which ^ and which alone, he estimates, 

Or can by possibility estimate, 

The truth or falsehood of his neighbour's judgment. 

Go, reader, then, and to thy moral truth 
Tenacious cling, as to thy dear Palladium, 
Thy honor, sacred duty and thy God, 
And when men talk to thee of truth essential 
Ask them what is it, where is it to be found; 
And if they tell thee, here or there or yonder. 
Away in the pursuit, and thou shalt never 
From that day forward want a pleasant pastime, 
A game for ever right before thee flying. 
For ever near, but never, never caught. 

Carlsruhe, Febr. 5, 1856. 


As long as I had thee, thou dearly loved flower, 

The year was to me sweet spring, summer, and autumn; 

As soon as thou droopedst and witheredst away. 

Ah! then came the cold frozen winter and storm. 

Carlsuuhk, Jan. 14, 1856. 

* See page 181 of this volume and dirge fou the xiii. dec. mdcccmi, 
in Mv Book. 

2 8 5. 


Page 14. Line 7 from bottom, instead of delirium read Delirium 

Page 98. Last line, instead of east, read west. 

Page 118, Last line, after that and after advancement supply comma. 

Page 149. First and second line, instead of Even read Even 

Page 173. Line 3 from bottom, dele comma. 

Page 197. Line 2 from top, after siin and after sets supply comma. 

Page 204. Line 9 from top, after play est supply comma. 

Page 237. Line 9 from bottom, instead of future, read future; 

Dresden, printed by C.-C. Meiniiold and Sons. 






It 's done. Now let me reflect on it. Methinks it looks 
somewhat different already. I 'm almost sorry I did it. I am 
sorry; very, very sorry. If I could but undo it! Alas! alas! 
never, never to be undone. Terrible condition ! Better not have 
been born! Why then did I do it? Let me think. What 
made me do it? Something must have made me do it. Myself 
could not make myself do it. Myself make myself! Impossible. 
Then what made me ? Let me think. It was this hand did it. 
What made this hand do it ? I made this hand do it. Yes ; 
I made, caused this hand to do it. ^^I" is my will. My will 
made, caused this hand to do it. It is the act of my will; 
that is, of myself; my own voluntary act. I willed it. But 
what made me will it? In the same way as something must 
have made my hand do it, something must have made my 
will will it. A desire made my will will it. Yes ; a desire, 
an emotion. I felt it here. An impulse stirred my will, an 
instinct, a passion. I felt something stir my will, make my 
will will it. Cursed something! Cursed impulse, passion, 

desire, whatever it was! But what made this impulse^ this 
passion, this emotion, this desire stir my will ; make my will 
will it? How should I know? It was not my will stirred 
this passion, this emotion, this desire; but this passion, this 
emotion, this desire stirred my will ; made my will do the act. 
But this passion, this emotion, this desire was not made by 
itself; therefore must have been made by something else, 
something antecedent; and that something antecedent was not 
made by itself but by something antecedent ; and so on ; each 
antecedent something by something antecedent still; how far? 
Till we come to a God? What God? My father's God? 
Could my father s God make himself? Could any God make 
himself? Impossible. Therefore beyond a God, beyond my 
father's God, beyond all Gods. Each antecedent something 
by something antecedent still, till we come to what? To 
nothing? No; for out of that antecedent nothing there could 
come nothing. Therefore each antecedent something, out of 
something antecedent still, and so on, for ever, without end. 
Then there is no end. Is that possible? Yes; for as there 
is space beyond space, and space beyond space, and space 
beyond space, and no space beyond which there is not yet 
space; and as there is time beyond time, and time beyond 
time, and time beyond time, and no time beyond which there 
is not yet time ; and as there is number beyond number, and 
number beyond number, and number beyond number, and no 
number beyond which there is not yet number, so there is 
thing beyond thing, and thing beyond thing, and thing beyond 
thing, and no thing beyond which there is not yet thing. It 
follows then that I could not help doing the deed ; for my 
will did it, and my will was made do it by something which 
was made to make my will do it, and so on , for ever. My 
will was but a link in a chain, at one end of which was the 
deed and at the other end, what? no other end; but the 
chain stretching away and away and away into the infinite 


distance, beyond the vision of tlie mind even when strained 
to the utmost, and with the most painful exertion. But how 
does it happen that a chain, infinite and unending on one 
hand, should be limited and have an end at the other? The 
chain is only a-making at that end ; the act of the will which 
is now the end of the chain being to be followed by its act 
or consequence or thing, and that act or consequence or thing 
by another act or consequence or thing, and that by another, 
and so on, into the infinite future. And thus the chain extends 
out of*view on both sides; is equally without beginning and 
without end. 

But if the act was necessary and could not be helped, 
whence this remorse? why do I accuse myself of it? why 
does Conscience reproach me for having done that which I 
could not but do ? Let me see. This remorse too must be 
caused. What causes it? I don't know. I can't see. Let me 
examine again. Is it real? Does Conscience really reproach 
me? First, what is Conscience? what more than feeling, 
sentiment? nothing more. I have a feeling that reproaches 
me, that says: — '^Cain, you should not have done this." 
Let me see if I can answer that feeling, if I can reason with 
it. What does it say? ^^Cain, you should not have done so." 
Let me try what I can answer: — ^^I could not help it; 
something made, caused me to do so." Is Conscience content 
with that answer? is the feeling silenced? Yes, the feeling 
is silenced; it says no more ^'^you should not have done so;" 
it is answered; \ should do what I was made or caused to do, 
or rather there is no should or should not in the question ; it 
is simply must. That is a happy thought; Conscience is an- 
swered, torments me no more. But stay: it is not silent yet; 
it is speaking again : let me listen ; what can it be saying 
now? It is apologising, excusing itself: it says: — ''Cain, 
my accusation was founded on the belief that you could have 
done otherwise. I now perceive that you could not. I now 

perceive, what I never perceived before, that you do not 
command your will; that your will is commanded for you; 
caused to act by your passion, your emotion, the impression 
made on you ; and your passion, your emotion, the impression 
made on you, caused again by your constitution, education, 
and circumstances at the moment. Your defence is good. I 
withdraw my charge, and pray forgiveness." Well then ; Con- 
science accuses me no more; I feel remorse no longer; and 
yet I am unhappy; less unhappy than before, but still very 
unhappy. Why ? let me try to find out w^herein my remaining 
unhappiness consists: It is not remorse; what then is it? It 
is regret; deep, deep regret; sorrow for what I have done. 
Can I not silence this sorrow, as I just now silenced my 
conscience? Let me justify myself to my sorrow, as I did to 
my conscience: — "Sorrow, torment me not; I could not help 
it, I was made to do it." What answers Sorrow? "I torment 
thee, not because thou didst that which thou shouldst not 
have done, but because thou didst the deed at all." "I was 
made to do it. I could not help it." "I torment thee because 
thou wast made to do it." "Unhappy man that I am, tormented 
because I was made to do the deed! better unborn!" "Yes; 
it is thy misfortune to have been born to do the deed; done, 
I must torment thee for it. Thou wast born to be tormented 
by Sorrow. But tell me why didst thou do the deed?" "A 
feeling, a passion, an emotion moved my will to do it." "And 
that feeling, that passion, that emotion whence?" "From my 
physical constitution, my nature, my education, my circum- 
stances at the moment; from Adam my father, and Eve my 
mother, and from the maker or cause of them both." "And 
canst thou not now tell whence I also come, and how it is 
as necessary Sorrow should torment thee, as it was necessary 
Will should do the deed? I too am an emotion, a passion, 
an instinct derived from thy physical constitution, thy nature, 
thy education, thy parents, and their maker, and the maker 

of their maker, and so forth." "Then why earnest thou not 
in time, that I might not have done this deed?" "As well 
mightest thou ask why did not the pain of the burn come in 
time to prevent the child from putting its hand into the fire. 
It is the constitution of thy nature." "Unhappy constitution! 
Cruel, cruel tormentor that tormentest me only when it is too 
late, when the deed is done, and the torment useless !" "Useless 
with respect to the past deed, but most useful with respect 
to the future." "But the future deed will be as necessary as 
the past." "Certainly; a similar desire or passion will produce 
a similar deed; but the similar desire or passion, before it 
can produce the similar deed, must be itself produced, and I 
prevent its production." "Blessed, blessed Sorrow, I thank 
thee; go on, go on; I will complain no more." And now let 
me consider again: I am sorry that I did the deed, and this 
sorrow is necessary or caused; as necessary, as caused, as 
the passion which caused the will to do the deed. What then 
causes this sorrow? To answer that question I must analyse 
my sorrow. What am I sorry for? For killing my brother. 
Why should I be sorry for killing my brother? Why? Is it 
because I have lost my brother; a good, kind brother? Yes; 
but my sorrow is greater than could have been occasioned 
by the mere loss of my brother. If he had been killed by a 
wild beast I would have equally lost my brother, but I would 
not have been equally sorry, I would not have sorrowed as 
I now sorrow. Am I sorry then because of the evil which 
has befallen my brother? Yes; but neither does that explain 
all my sorrow. I am sorrier than if he had died by the hand 
of another assassin, or been torn in pieces by a wild beast, yet 
the evil to him would have been the same. Why then do I 
sorrow more than for the loss I have myself sustained by my 
brother's death, more than for the evil which has befallen my 
brother? Why more? Let me think. ]\Iy father and mother 
and sisters and every one who knows me will think worse of 

me for what I have done. That is a great cause of sorrow. 
I have lost their good opinion for ever. That indeed is terrible. 
But why so terrible? I could not help it; the passion, which 
caused my will to do the deed, was caused. Will they not 
think of that, and forgive me ? No ; they cannot forgive me ; 
it is impossible they should. They may indeed not inflict 
physical punishment on me, may not torture me, may not 
kill me, may not expel me from among them, but they cannot 
think of me as they did before. That is wholly impossible. 
They now know what they never knew before, that I am a 
man whose passion will carry him the length even of killing 
his own good and loving brother. How can any one ever 
love me more? It is impossible. I am a fallen man. But 
how fallen? Let me not imagine myself worse than I am. 
I am not fallen, for I was always the same ; would have done 
the same thing the day before, or a week before, or a month 
before, or a year before, or twenty years before, if the same 
occasion had arisen. The same cause would have produced 
the same passion, the same passion caused the will to perform 
the same act. I am therefore no worse than before; nay the 
very same as before; am not fallen; only fallen in men's 
estimation. Then they estimated me too highly before; and 
should I sorrow that they now know the truth of me, that 
they are no longer deceived; know that I am a man unsafe 
to live with, to come near, to have anything to do with: a 
man whom they should either shun, or expel from among 
them, or kill? Should I sorrow for this? No; I should 
rather rejoice; rejoice that the truth is known of me; that 
my friends are no longer deceived about me; will be ware 
of me. That at least is a good consequence of my unhappy 
deed. If they had known it sooner the deed might have been 
prevented, and how happy had it been for me! my brother 
at least would still have been living. Their knowledge of me 
although too late to prevent that deed, is time enough to 



prevent a similar. Let me then not sorrow that men have 
now that true knowledge of my character^ which will prevent 
them from trusting themselves in my society for the future. 
They will shun me, or expel me, or kill me. Let me rejoice 
if they do. I cannot blame them if they do. They do it in 
selfpreservation. They are not safe near me. They now know 
they are not, and if they are wise will punish me; not 
out of wrath or vengeance, as I killed my brother; but to 
preserve themselves from me, and to deter others from fol- 
lowing my example. But cannot I excuse myself to them? 
Let me think. Have I no excuse? Can I not silence their 
accusation as I silenced that of my own conscience? What 
did I tell Conscience? ^^I could not help it; my passion made 
my will do the deed, and my constitution, and education, 
and circumstances at the moment, caused my passion." This 
excuse satisfied my conscience, but did not satisfy my sorrow; 
will it satisfy men? Let me try: — ^^I could not help it. 
My will was made do the deed. I am not responsible. Ye 
cannot righteously either hate or punish me." What do they 
answer? ^^Villain, we hate thee and punish thee, not because 
of the deed, but because the deed was done, even as thou 
thyself sayest, by thy will, and thy will made to do it by 
thy passion, and thy passion caused by thy constitution and 
education and circumstances at the moment. We will not 
keep among us a man of such a constitution and such an 
education and such consequent passion. Begone from amongst 
us, and be thankful that we don't kill thee as thou didst thy 
brother." I have nothing to reply: out of my own mouth 
they condemn me. Better I had not been born! But is this 
all the cause of my sorrow ? Has it no further cause ? Let 
me see. Not only has this act of mine displayed to men my 
true character, but to myself; I sorrow to find myself such 
a man as I am: to think that even before this deed I was 
such a man as this deed has proved me to be. I shudder at 

the very sight of myself^ of what I have been even while no 
one, not even myself, so much as suspected it. My pride is 
humbled. ^ I am a man of such constitution, such education, 
and such consequent passion, as wilfully to kill my own 
brother. "Wretch, hide thy face even from thyself. Happy 
for thee if men would kill thee before thou committest a 
worse act than even this! for as no one, not even thyself, 
could know beforehand that thy constitution, and education, 
and consequent passion, were such as would cause thee to 
commit this act, so no one, not even thyself, can know before- 
hand that thy constitution, and education, and consequent 
passion, are not such as to cause thee yet to commit an act 
even worse than this. Even by this one act how hast thou 
debased thyself in thine own eyes ! " Let me console myself 
however with the reflection that I am no longer deceived 
about myself; that I know, better than ever I did before, my 
true character. Poor consolation ! and yet something ; for bad 
as it is to be base and vile, it is still worse to be base and 
vile, and believe myself noble and honorable. 

Well then, is this the whole? The loss of my brother; 
the injury done to my brother; the loss of my own esteem, 
and of men's esteem, and the fear of men's vengeance. Is 
this the whole? Have I nothing more to lament? nothing 
more to fear? Will not my father's God punish me also? 
will he not send fiends to torment me, to haunt me day and 
night? That is a weighty consideration. Let me see. Let 
me consider it well. First of all, can he? To be sure he 
can, for he is almighty; that is his very name, what my 
father calls him. Resistence and escape are alike hopeless. 
He can punish me if he will. But will he? Let me see. 
To be sure he will, for he is a terrible God, as terrible 
as he is strong; given to passion and anger, even as I 
am myself; vindictive like a man; hates like a man; re- 
members like a man; judges and punishes as if he were 






a man; and only diflfers from man in his greater strength, 
and never forgiving — for he is justice* itself, must execute; 
cannot remit or forgive; else he becomes injustice. Ter- 
rible God! he will punish me; and men's punishment will 
be as nothing to his punishment, not only on account of 
his unlimited power and infinite sternness, but on account 
of his immutability. Men may after a time forget me and 
my crime, but my father's God never forgets ; never softens ; 
never relents; never, never; is the same yesterday, today, 
and for ever. His revenge therefore lasts for ever, for ever 
and ever; death which puts an end to all other sorrow is 
ineffectual to put an end to this ; for this terrible, this malig- 
nant, this irresponsible despot drags me out of that death 
which closes the sufferings even of the beast of the fields, and 
infuses into me a new and everlasting life, for the sole purpose 
of tormenting me everlastingly ; of tormenting me everlastingly 
for no good either to myself, or to himself, or to mankind, 
or to any one, or to any thing, but merely to indulge the 
malignancy of his own nature : me the work of his own hands ; 
me to whom he gives the irresistible inclination and the power 
to do the very thing which he commands me not to do, the 
very thing to which he attaches his everlasting punishment. 
Tyrant, it was not I that killed my brother, it was thou that 
killedst him: where is my brother, tyrant? what hast thou 
done with him ? The guilt is thine, not mine. I was but the 
club in thine hand : inflict thine eternal torment upon thyself. 
Cain, Cain, how spotless pure art thou in comparison with 
the monster — with the malignant, detestable, diabolical 
monster! But stay: whose God is this? Thy God, Cain? 
believest thou in such a God? worshippest thou such a God? 
prayest thou to such a God? humblest thou thyself to such 
a God ? to the inexorable, to the immutable, to the malignant, 
to the sole cause of all thy sorrow ? No, I 'm not a fool : he 
is not my God : he is my father's God. Let my father, if he 


will, honor him, and pray to him, and Hatter him, and wheedle 
him to let him back into paradise ; let him coax him , if he 
will, to reconstruct and remodel his bungled and imperfect 
work, I will have nothing to say to him. I renounce and 
disclaim him. What have I to do with him? What do I 
know about him? Better for me if he had never existed. But 
for him I could not this day have been the murderer of my 
brother. But let me see. Does he exist? Is there really 
such a God? Most devoutly do I hope there is not. How 
happy for me, for my father, for all men, if there were not! 
Let me see 5 let me see. Where did he come from ? Who 
made him? What good in him? What use in him? Better 
without him. But my father says, this world required a God 
to make it. But if it did, the God that made it required 
another God to make him, for it is quite as easy, nay much 
easier, to conceive this world existing without a maker, than 
its maker existing without a maker. Who knows when this 
world which we see and feel was not to be seen and felt? 
who knows that, I say? First show me that there was a 
time when this world which we see and feel was not to be 
seen and felt, and then come and ask me to imagine a God 
to make it. First show me that there was a time when there 
was no time, and then come, if thou wilt, and ask me to 
imagine a God to make time. First tell me at what time 
did this God of thine make time. If thou answerest, at such 
a time, then there was time before God made it. If thou 
answerest, at no time, then no time is never. Or where was 
this God of thine when he made space? — where was he 
when there was no ^' where"? Or where is this God of thine 
now? Is he any where? Yes, he is somewhere. Where 
then? In heaven. Why the change of abode? Why leave 
where he was before he created heaven? Nonsense, mere 
nonsense; absurdities which full grown men instil into children; 
bugbears with which they frighten them until at last they 


begin to be frightened themselves. But let me think seriously 
of it. My will did this deed; and my passion made my will 
do it, and my constitution and education and circumstances 
at the moment made my passion; and something previous 
made my constitution and education and circumstances at the 
moment; and something else previous made that previous 
something; and so on beyond sight and prospect, beyond the 
mental horizon, away, away, into the infinite distance. And 
who knows what there may be in that infinite distance, away 
beyond the intellectual horizon? Perhaps some God as bad 
as, or worse than, my father's God. Some more malignant, 
more vindictive, more despotic tyrant than even he. No; 
impossible; for malignancy, despotism, vindictiveness , are 
not beyond, but within, the intellectual horizon; are here 
at our very hand ; are caused ; and it is their cause we 
want, something that shall explain them, that shall account 
for their existence and to find which something we must 
of course go away beyond them. Some good being then, 
some amiable, forgiving, merciful, wise being; some being, 
all wise, all good, all amiable, all perfect, such as my father 
tells his God he is, when he wants to cajole and wheedle 
him to his purpose. No, equally impossible; for it is the 
cause of this goodness, this amiability, this perfection, we 
want, and the cause must be away beyond the efi*ect. It is 
not this thing, or that thing — this goodness, this badness — 
which we seek, but the cause of this goodness, this badness ; 
something therefore which is no thing. That is my God ; 
no thing, but the cause of all things; that which is neither 
good nor bad, nor high nor low, nor great nor small, but 
which was and is beyond and before all these things and 
every thing, and of which I know nothing, and of which 
nothing can by any possibility be known except the mere 
negative, the pure and absolute nothing. 


And is this all I know? With all the force of my under- 
standing can I arrive at no more? If at no more^ at least at 
no less. Ignorance rather than error. The ignorant mind 
m-ay receive knowledge, for the field is open ; the erring mind 
cannot receive it, for the field is full, full of error. Foolish 
man, vain, foolish, wicked, and hypocritical man, would fain 
hide ignorance behind error. But who am I that talk of 
vanity and wickedness? I, the murderer of my brother? 
Yes, why not I? what is vain? what is wicked? what but 
men's opinion of certain acts, and why not my opinion equal 
to another's? What is the murder of my brother but the 
killing of my brother ? what makes the killing of my brother 
murder, and his killing of me, if he had killed me in his 
selfdefence, not murder? what but the opinion of men who 
declare that the act done with the one passion or instinct is 
murder, the act done with the other passion or instinct not 
murder? But where is the difference between the passions or 
instincts? What makes one better or worse than another? 
He offended me and my blood rose and I killed him. I offend 
him and his blood rises and he kills me. Where is the dif- 
ference but in degree? that my blood rises quick, his slow? 
Men judge that it is for their advantage a man's blood should 
rise slow and not quick, and punish me and reward him. It 
is the judgment of men; nothing else. Were sheep to judge, 
it is my brother were pronounced the murderer, who kills 
them in cold blood ; them who have never offended him. But 
killing sheep does no harm to men, and therefore men do 
not call him who kills them murderer, nor punish him. And 
so it is. Men are right, and I blame them not. They have 
made this rule among themselves; and I am one of them 
myself, and a consenting party to the rule. Sheep would do 
so if they could, and do so as far as they can. Lions and 
wolves do so. Every thing that lives does so, as far as it 
can; makes its rules according to what it thinks its greatest 


interest, and calls observance of those rules right; and violation 
of them wrong. I have done this wrong, this great wrong; 
broken the rule made by my friends and species and self, 
and must bear the consequence. Dreadful consequence ! Better 
not have been born! Death a thousand times better. What? 
death? yes, death a thousand times better; next best to not 
to have been born. Death then, death. My friends cannot 
frown on me there. Men cannot expel me there ; cannot hate 
me there; cannot mark me there; cannot hunt me down there; 
cannot hie their God, their demon, upon me there. My sorrow 
cannot torment me there. There at least I am safe. My 
passion cannot rise again there; my blood boil again there; 
and make my will kill another man, murder another brother. 
Come then, death ; sweet, gentle death, long and last oblivion, 
come; best, kindest friend of man, come; Oh! come, come, 

Glenageary Cottage, Dalkey (Ireland). Autumn of 1851. 



VLOSE the book, reader, if to any fashion. 
Or sect, or creed, or theory thou 'rt wedded; 
Read on, if thou believest good may be 
Perhaps even there where most thou disapprovest 
— It may be even where most I disapprove — 
Not to please thee I wrote, please thou thyself. 



Printed by C. C. Meinhold & Sons. 




Honest God, who lovest candor, 
And wouldst not great Alexander 
Flatter, for his crown and scepter, 
Or the praise of his preceptor; 
Thou, to whom no altar blazes, 
Had I voice, I 'd sing thy praises; 
Having none, I lay my psalter 
Humbly down on thy cold altar; 
Take, and read it at thy leisure — 
It was writ for Momus' pleasure. 

[Dresden, May 16, 1866.] 


7 '/;' 


(jOLD, unbelieving sceptic, turn and see 
Here typified, Man's immortality. 
As through my various phases I have passed, 
— Egg, larva, pupa, insect — and at last 
Have died and to an end come, and no more 
Shall floweret sip, or through the blue sky soar, 
So Man when through life's changes he has passed 
And to his native dust returned at last, 
Out of that dust shall rise to heaven on high. 
To live with God himself and never die. 
Doubt no more then, but carve upon thy tomb 
A butterfly, the emblem of thy doom. 

Carlsruhe, March 25, 1856. 

1 HANKS, Fortune! that thou sent'st into the world 

So many accidents, cross - purposes. 

Malapropos , surprises , slips of tongue ; 

Else never, never to this honr, had reached 

Once to mine ear, Truth's weak and stammering voice. 

Carlsruhe , March 19, 1856. 

IHE pious Christian says the Turk 's quite wrong; 
The pious Turk says: wrong the Christian, quite; 
Thou, larger - hearted , each by his own rule 
Judge , and thou 'It find both Turk and Christian right. 

Carlsruhe, May 15, 1856. 

IHIS infinite goodness which we see all r6und us. 
This infinite love and power and wisdom, whence? 
Why, isn't it plain even to the veriest child. 
From infinite goodness, love and power and wisdom? 
Nothing without a cause is ; so , of love, 
Love is the cause; and power, the cause of power j 
Goodness, of goodness; and of wisdom, wisdom: 
Listen, ye atheists; blush, and be convinced. 

Carlsruhe, March 17, 1856. 

iHANK thee, kind Providence," the cuckoo said. 
Dropping her egg into the blackbird's nest; 
"To thee, who so the blackbird's brood protectcst, 
My little one with confidence I trust." 

Carlsruhe, May 15, 1856. 


"Vier Thieren auch verheissen war 
In's Paradies zu kommen." 

Goethe, West-Oestlicher Divan. 

Ihere are four beasts in paradise, 
Among the saints and liouris, 

An ass, a dog, a wolf, a cat; 

There are these four beasts only. 

The ass, he is the very ass 
Christ rode on, into Zion; 

His bed is of palm branches made, 
He 's held of all in honor. 

The second beast in paradise 

The wolf is, of Mohammed; 

The wolf that killed the rich man's sheep, 
But did not touch the poor man's. 


The little dog that slept so long 

And sound, with the Seven Sleepers, 

The third beast is, in paradise; 

He came there with his masters. 

Abuherrira's pussy cat 

The last of the four beasts is. 
And lives on milk for lack of mice, 

And purrs about the Lord's feet. 

I 've not been there, myself, to see 
That really, there, the four are, 

But Goethe has, and I 'm content 
To take it Goethe's word on. 

Carlsruhe, March 8, 1856. 


iHERE is a way to be by all beloved, 

And live a liappy life and free from trouble : 

Give when tbou liast, and give when thou hast not, 

And always give and give, and ask back nothing; 

And never see a fault thy neighbour has, 

Nor any virtue which thou hast thyself; 

And not even in the fashion of thy shoe-tie 

Differ one tittle from thy neighbour's judgment 

• — Out of conviction, mind! not compliment — 

And "never cease to instil into thy children 

The love of virtue for its own, dear sake, 

And to stray never from the path of honor 

And independent principle and truth. 

Not even to gain th' esteem of the whole, wide world. 

So shalt thou happy live, and, when thou comest, 

At last, to die, resign thy breath, contented. 

Without a doubt thy children will have sense ■ 

To follow thy example, not thy precept. '•' 

Carlsruhe, March 9, 1856. 

1 DON'T know which is worse, the Turk or Heathen; 
And yet — stay, let me see — the Turk is worse : 
The idol thou canst throw down, smash to atoms; 
But how out of the temple drivest Allah, 
Th' invisible, th' intangible, the nothing? 

Carlsruhe, May 16, 1856. 


"Who 11 buy my poems? who 11 buy?" 
Through the lanes and markets I, 
Through the low ways and the high, 
All the livelong morning, cry; 
But no one comes to buy — 
T^ll me the reason why. 

"Let 's see a poem — fie! 
You have got the evil eye; 
N(5ne of your poems I '11 buy — 
Good bye, Sir Poet, good bye!" 

"From your own self, you fly; 

It 's you have the evil eye; 

I 'm but its painter, I. 

Of the truth since you 're so shy, 

Good bye, my friend, good bye ! 

I '11 not s^ll to you, not I; 

Keep your money for a lie — 

Who '11 buy my poems? who '11 buy?" 

Carlsrdhe, May 2, 1856. 

"Omne tiilit punctum." 

1 HE pious man alone makes way with God ; 
With Man, the pietist alone makes way; 
So be thou pietist and pious both, 
And, holding all the trumps, the whole game 's thine. 

Cablsruhe, May 20, 1856, 


Despise me not: I am as true 
And incorruptible, as you; 
Have whiter teeth, can sharper smell, 
Can run as quick, and fight as well. 
And, if all 's true that people tell. 
Haven't half your chance to go to Hell. 
Carlsruue, April 20, 1856. 

llUSH! not one word about it! here 's my child. 
Children must not hear what their parents think. 
Carlsruhe, March 30, 1856. 

If I said truth, forgive me, good, kind friend; 
"JVas a mere inadvertence, not design. 
1 know the rules of life; am neither drunk, 
Nor fool, nor child, nor unbeliever simple. 
And if, at times, I blurt the awkward word. 
Repentance follows with her scorpion whip. 
And lashes, till he bleeds, the unhappy culprit. 
Forgive me then, truth 's its own punishment. 
Carlsuuiie, March 11), 18r)6. 



Upon that Providence rely 

Which feeds the spider with the fly. 

"But what if I should be the fly?" 

Upon that Providence rely 

Which sends the housemaid with the broom 

To sweep the spider out of the room. 

"But what if I 'm the spider?" Why, 

Upon that Providence rely 

Which sends the housemaid out to flirt, 

And leaves the chamber in its dirt, 

Carlsruhe, May 7, 1856. 

iHE king walked out, 
And looked about; 

His heart was full of pride: 
The king walked in, 
And, by a pin 

Pricked in the finger, died. 

Ye laureates, sing 
The mighty king. 

The just, the brave, the wise; 
But to the bier 
Come not too near — 

It stinks, and gathers flies. 

CARLSKunE , April G, 185G. " 

(jO to! Go to! thou that believ'st tliy soul 

Unborn, all perfect, and to live for ever. 

And feel'st it not each moment dying in thee, 

Each moment newly born — even as thy flesh — 

Till it 's as little like, at eighty years. 

That which it was at eighteen years or months, 

As the lank hair of eighty years is like 

The curls of manhood or the baby's down. 

Go to! Go to! I will not argue with thee, 

Thou who feel'st not thy soul's growth and decay, 

And still less argue with thee if thou feelest 

Thy soul grow and decay, and knowest not, 

To grow and to decay mean but - to die. 

Carlsruhe, May 1, 1856. 

Religion leams addition well, 
But is a perfect blockhead at subtraction; 

Easier to add a hundred new, 
Than take one old saint from the calendar. 

Well for the new saint! well for the old! 
And well for us, poor, pelting devils of sinners, 

Who stand so much in need of friends 
At court, to introduce and recommend us ! 

Carlsruhe, May IG, 1856. 

Wo statute against lying; why? because, 
How without help of lying make a statute? 


rio statute against lying; why? because 
Liars and lies, our lawmakers and laws. 

Carlsruhe, May 8, 1856. 

With memory short and understanding weak. 
And appetites fierce rampant as a beast's, 
And hideous outside, crippled and deformed 
— Hypocrisy and cruelty and pride. 
Malignancy and violence and imposture 
Oozing, redundant, out of every pore — 
Behold the Lord's elected, the redeemed. 
The newly born, the vessel of God's grace. 
The etherial spirit that, in pure white robed, 
Shall sit enthroned beside the son of God, 
Judging the heretic, infidel, and heathen. 
Or, harp in hand, with choirs seraphic mingle, 
And raise th' accepted hymn, to the Most High. 

Carlsruhe, May 13, 1856. 

1 ASK no better omen of my lore 

Than that each reader, while he reads, should cry: - 

"Well said! well said! that could not be said better; 

But I, for all that, don't agree with him; 

He is a queer, odd fellow; has strange notions, 

Of God, especially, and the soul, and heaven, 

And things of that sort; things so plain and easy 

That I have never found it necessary 

To enlarge the views I had of them when a child, 

A little, whimpering child of six years old. 

I wonder at him , for I know he is 

A good, well meaning man, and every time 

I say my prayers I pray God to forgive him 

And make him like the rest of us — amen!" 

Carlsruhe, May 23, 1856. 

Happy and good, who well deceives his foes; 
Happier and better, who his friends deceives well; 
Happiest and best, who well deceives his children, 
Hides from them all he feels and thinks and knows, 
All the experience his long life has taught him. 
And, when he dies, behind him leaves them floundering 
In the same sea of lies, in which his own 
Kind parents, when they died, left him to flounder. 

Carlsruhe, Marcli 30, 1856, 



It 's a holy wMm, a lioly whim; 

Unholy! be thou still: 
It 's a holy whim, a holy whim, 

Holy will have its will. 

It 's Holy rules the earth and sea; 

It 's Holy rules the sky; 
Of Holy we are still the slaves, 

Whether we live or die. 

Carlsruhe, May 16, 1856. 

UnLAMENTED, well deserving, 
By the vengeful hand of Verger 
Fell the portly, proud archbishop : * 
Unlamented, well deserving. 
By the vengeful ax fell Verger. 
Bravo! bravo! so the wood 's cleared. 
And the heaven's light, heat and rain get 
To the grass, and make it grow up. 

3 Chemnitzkr Strasse, Dresden, Febr. 8 — 9, 1857. 

* Siborn, Archbisliop of Paris, while officiating in the church of St. 
Stephen of the Mount, in Paris, January 2, 1857, was assassinated by a 
priest, of the name of Verger, who was immediately arrested, and, with as 
little delay as possible, tried, convicted and guillotined. 


My country's language is the stone of which 
I have built myself a temple vast and solid, 
Where tribes and nations yet unborn shall seek 
And find me ever -present, and propitious, 
Me, whom my countrymen not understanding. 
Despise, even as the Jews their holiest prophet, 
And, to false prophets only, lend an ear. 

3 Chemnitzer Strasse, Dresden, Febr. 23, 1857. 

EVER -TRUNDLING Dresden, if so few 

Drive in thy streets, it 's not for want of wheels. 

What is it, then, that 's wanted, that so few 

Drive in thy streets, ever -trundling Dresden? 

Wliy, horses, to be sure! to sit and drive, 

Where women, men and dogs are always drawing. » 

3 Chemnitzer Strasse, Dresden, Jan. 27, 1857. 

rIRM to the truth adhere so long as thou gdin'st by it, 
And never tell a lie but for thy profit. 
So shalt thou please God best, by men live honored, 
Avoid the martyr's crown, yet win the saint's. 

Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 13, 1858. 


1 TOOK my dog with me, one day, to church. 

And, full of wonder that he did not worship, 

Said to him wh^n I came home: — "How is 't, Tray, 

That you 're not thankful to the God of all?" 

"What God of all?" said Tray; "the God who made 

Me and my fellows for the use of you 

And yours, not for our own use or enjoyment? 

Lick ye his hand, wag ye your tails to him ; 

By your own showing we owe nothing to him ; 

A devil had treated us as well or better." 

So saying. Tray lay down upon his mat 

Growling, and I said — What hadst thou said, reader? 

Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 12, 1858. 

IHOU, pious Christian, when thou diest bring'st with thee 

Into the heaven of heavens, thine earthly soul. 

With all its human knowledge and affections. 

I, when I die, cease wholly and need nothing; 

Bring with me nothing, not even thy farewell; 

But take thou mine, and sometimes even in heaven 

Think of me; sometimes to the recollection 

Of thy once d^ar friend spare some few short moments 

Of thine eternity of perfect bliss. 

Thou shakest thine head • — well ! well ! I '11 not insist ; 

It was a foolish thought; forgive thy friend, 

And, in thy pure and perfect joy, forget. 

Via Sistina, Rome, Febr. 11, 1858. 




1 NEVER go to church, I never pray, 

Never confess my sins, but, all the day, 

Follow my nose, do what me pleases best, 

Eat, drink and sleep, and leave to God the rest. 

Whom thou so busy keep'st with minding thee 

— Blessed, lucky chance! — he never thinks of me. 

Wouldst thou know who I am, Ali 's my name 

(Or Doctor Henry — it is all the same), 

Of cynic race, some say, and an ascetic; 

A stoic, some say; some, a peripatetic; 

But of whatever sect, whatever race. 

The true friend, still, of Miss Louisa Grace. 

PiSTOJA, April 7, 1858. 

— "Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousie: 
It is a green-eyed monster, which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on." 

I WOULD not be Ali — not for the whole 

Wide world — with scarce a body and no soul. 

And two blind eyes, and snivelling nose, and tongue 

Out of a toothless mouth on one side hung 

Like a red clout. Talk of his pedigree 

And gentle blood ! I would not be Ali 

— Not even for heaven itself — and to the side 

Of a proud mistress with a string be tied. 

What is 't to me, she has a lovely face? 

What is 't to me, she 's called Louisa Grace? 

That she draws truer than Da Fiesole, 

Than Petrarch purer writes, what is 't to me? 


That she steps Juno, smiles the Queen of Love, 

Coos sweeter in the ear than Paphian dove? 

I '11 n6t trot at her side through mire and dust, 

Not put up with her "Come!" "Go!" "Sir, you must;" 

Jump when she bids, and, when she bids, lie down 

At her foot-sole, half smothered in her gown. 

All may if he likes: a fr6e dog, I; 

A free dog I was born, and free will die. 

PiSTOJA, April 8, 1858. 

A FINE, hopeful boy, your Tommy; 
Always takes and holds the first place," 
T6 an anxious father said once 
A grave, feruled, wise schoolmaster; 

"But your Neddy, sir, I f^ar me, 
N6 good of him will come ever; 
Th^re he stands, the last boy always — 
At the bottom of the wh61e class." 

N6w I dare not say schoolmasters 
Ever put boys in wrong places, 
Though I Ve sometimes stood, I own it. 
At the bottom of the whole class. 

And you 'd wonder little Neddy 
Ventured even so much as hint it, 
Had you seen those shaggy, black brows. 
And the birch that hung not far off: — 

"Only be so good as sometimes 
T6 begin to count from m^, sir. 
And you '11 find, perhaps," said Neddy, 
"I 'm not always in the last place. 


"But as long as you begin your 
Count from favorite Master Alpha, 
Not a boy in school but knows that 
For poor Omega there 's smdll chance." 

True the story, and a m^re fact, 

Not a tale excogitated 

To discredit schools and teachers, 

Else, be sure, you had had a priest in it. 

PisTOJA, April 10, 1858. 

1 SAW him pick it up ; it was a rag 

Worth nothing, yet he picked it up and stowed it 

Away into his pouch, as thou wouldst gold. 

Misery was in his face, and in the act, 

And in the shame with which he strove, in vain, 

The act to hide. My very heart bled for him, 

And with mine eye I followed him until 

In, at a door more wretched than himself. 

Tottering and slow and sad, he disappeared. . 

Twice, in my dreams, since then I 've seen his frail, 

Stooped, trembling figure; more than twice since then 

Have, to my waking self, hoped he was dead 

And out of suffering, and no longer, more 

Than ever impious atheist by his reasoning, 

Against God's goodness and God's providence, 

By the mere fact of his being alive, blasphemed. 

PiSTOjA, April 8, 1858. 



Kind Providence it was, that gave me life; 
Kind Providence it was, gave me a wife; 
Kind Providence it was, took from me botli. 
To accuse a good, kind Providence, I 'm loath, 
But, in my simple judgment, he should either 
Have left both with me, or have given me neither. 

Walking from Layis to Deutschmetz (South Tirol), April 28, 1858. 

iHIS world's goods are dross and rubbish," 
Said I to Religion, one day; 
"Yet, methinks, thou 'rt never easy 
When thou 'st n6t got d good shdre o' them. 

"To be sure," answered Religion; 

"Just because they 're dross and rubbish, 

I endeavour to make uj), in 

Quantity, the deficit in 

Solid and intrinsic value." 

"Right," said I, "and I have iw6 birds 
Killed with one stone, for I see now, 
For the first time, why Religion 
Is so well contented, always. 
With an infinitesimal portion 
Of God's graces, for her own share.^' 
Rosamond, Rathgak Road, Dublin, March 23, 18G0. 


"Life is a jest, and all things show it;^^ 
I thought so once, but now I know it." 
Gay's Epitaph. 

This life 's a jest, you wicked poet; 
Living, you thought so; dead, you know it. 
But what 's the next life, tell us. "Why, 
The next life 's serious, being — a lie." 
Klobenstein, on the Kitten, near Botzen, May 3, 1858. ' 

AeRANT cheats, as all the world knows, 
Hope and Fear are, dnd were always; 
Vagabonds of different sexes, 
Once, by chance, they came together. 

E(Sund Fear's waist Hope threw his string arms, 
Kissed and pressed and coaxed and cuddled; 
Fear grew big, and in due time was 
Safe delivered of Religion. 

Arrant cheats, as all the w6rld knows. 
Were, and stfll are, both the parents; 
Where 's the wonder if the daughter 's _ 
Twice as arrant cheat as either? 
Flirsch, in the Stanzru-thal, Tirol, May 12, 1858. 


IHOU praisest, blessest, glorifiest God: 
Why not? the child says, to the rising sun, 
Good morrow! to the setting sun, Good night! 
And beats the naughty stool that fell and hurt him. 

Reuti, in the Rhein-thal, Canton St. Gallen, May 15, 1858. 



IlEAVEN is the land of bliss. 


But where 's that land, 
That happy land? Oh! tell me, if thou lov'st me. 


Beyond the sea, above the sun and stars, 
Deep in the bowels of the solid earth. 
Or wheresoever 's the securest place 
And least accessible, there, there is heaven. 


And when I 'm there at last, at long and last. 
Shall I be happy? tell me, tell me truly. 


Why, to be sure! — The bird stands to be caught, 
When once thou hast put the salt upon its tail. 

MohrinCtEn, on the Danuhe , May 25, 1858. 

ly 2* 

If h^ 's religious who believes in one 
Sole, single, all -sustaining Providence, 
Double, at least, must bis religion be. 
Who has the happiness to believe in two: 
In number One, who fills Man's hungry belly. 
And number Two, who makes Man's belly hungry 
But, with three -fold religion, blessed, is he. 
The pious man, who 'd, if he could, install 
A third, and still more needful, Providence, 
To balance th' other two, and to preserve 
Birds, beasts, and fishes from Man's hungry belly, 
And from each other's — filling up with grass, 
Or doing away entirely with, all bellies. 
FoRBACH, in the Murg-thal, Baden, May 30, 1858. 



Dead as a dog! 


Ay, to be sure; 
Dead, and that 's all about it. 


But the soul, Ned? 


Why, up to heaven 
Gone, with the dog's; don't doubt it. 
Malscii, near Carlsruhe , May 31, 1858. 


"Caput rerum Roma." 

Deing themselves of all the whole, wide world's 

Cruel, unscrupulous, hard-hearted tribes, 

The most hard-hearted and unscrupulous, 

The Romans conquered all the whole, wide world. 

What are they now, those haughty, conquering Romans, 

Who gave laws to the Briton and the Mede, 

Who chopped the hdnds off, of their Dacian captives, 

And, to amuse themselves and wives and children, 

Tortured to death the Christian in the Arena — 

What are they now? cameo -cutters, painters. 

Carvers of wood and marble, stucco -plasterers, 

Long-petticoated priests and slip -shod friars 

Mumbling prayers for bajocchi. And Rome's Caesar, 

— Augustus, Pater Patriae, Imperator — 

What is he now? a preacher, a confessor, 

A soul - absolver , dispensation -granter — 

A hobbling porter with a bunch of keys, 

Opening for those who well the knocker grease, 

Growling at beggars, threatening naughty boys 

That if about the door they keep such noise - 

Pshaw! leave him there: to thee or me, what matter? 

Rome 's dead and gone — that 's all; but, if it be, 

Another 's coming, or already come, 

For Man is Man still, and the world 's the world. 

And as wide -mouthed, voracious pike, today, 

Breed in the Seine as ever bred in Tiber. 

In the Waldiiorn, Carlsruhe, June 20, 1858. 



Lady Gout once caught a rich man 
By the foot, and pulled him to her, 
Saying: — "Come; lie down beside me; 
While we may, let us be happy." 

And the rich man was no Joseph, 
And lay down beside her, willing — 
Such things, many a time, have happened, 
Many a time, such things will happen. 

Lady Gout the rich man's hand caught 
In her hand, and warmly pressed it, 
Twined about his neck her lithe arms. 
Kissed and coaxed and hugged and cuddled ; 

Said, he was her only loved one. 
Her dear, only, one beloved one; 
Kissed him twenty times a minute, 
Fifty times a minute, kissed him. 

To draw breath, the rich man struggled, 
And unlock her arms clasped round him 
Tight as ever round Laocoon 
And his two sons clung the serpents. 

Lady Gout kissed only faster. 
Only closer hugged and cuddled — 
See the rich man, how he reddens. 
In the face, and swells and blackens; 



Like a board upon a billow, 
How his bosom up and down heaves — 
Not for thousand times his treasures, 
Would I change lots with that rich man. 

From between his lips the foam spews, 
And his eyes are glazed and staring, 
And his bosom heaves no longer. 
And his skin is cold and clammy. 

It 's a strong love doesn't from death turn; 
Lady Gout, all of a sudden. 
To corruption leaves one sweetheart. 
And her arms flings round another. 

In the Waldhorn, Carlsruhe, June 5, 1858. 



Like, as an egg's, life's two ends to each other: 
Blind, helpless, speechless, at one end we enter, 
Not knowing where we are, or whence we come; 
Blind, helpless, speechless, exit at the other - 
Who has come back to tell us why or whither? 


Lazarus, for one. 


And what did Lazarus say? 


Nothing; seemed not to know he had been away. 
In the Waldhorn, Garlsruhe, July 1, 1858. 

rro)&t ofai'tov. 

OO thou hast been at Delphi, yet not learned 
Thou 'rt not a baker, but a lump of dough 
Leavened with one part pleasure, three parts pain, 
Kneaded, rolled out, and scored and pricked all over. 
Baked, sliced, chewed, swallowed, cast into the draught, 
Not doubting, all the while, but thou 'rt a baker. 
Go back to Delphi, fool, and say I sent thee, 
Not to consult the oracle but read 
The inscription on the shrine; go back to Delphi. 

In the Waldhorn , Carlsruhe , June 22, 1858. 

oHE was a gallant ship, that, many a day, 
Buffeted with the Avinds and ocean waves, 
But in the course of time, alas! grew crazy. 
And sprang a leak, and, in a hurricane, 
Foundered, and sank in thousand -fathom water, 
And no two boards of her remained together. 
No matter; weep not for her; the day 's coming, 
When from the bottom she '11 rise stately up, 
— New rigged and painted — not to sail the sea 
Or buffet with the stormy Avinds and waves. 
But float serene, above, in the blue sky, 
Beyond the clouds, in everlasting sunshine. 
Deplore not the wrecked vessel, but rejoice. 
And look out' for her day of resurrection. 

RlNKLINGEN, BaDEN , Julj 3, 1858. 




An angel, that! 


Ay , to be sure ! an angel ; 
Hasn't it the duck's wings stuck between its shoulders? 
A little boy with duck's wings on his back 's 
An angel; a great big one 's an archangel; 
A head without a body, and with wings 
Under its chin, one on each side, 's a cherub. 


And when I die, am I to be an angel? 
Or an archangel? or a cherub only? 


None of the three; you are to be a spirit. 


But I '11 have wings to fly about, like them? 


No; what would spirits do with wings, who have neither 
Bodies nor heads, nothing at all to carry? 


How can they eat or drink, unless they 've heads? 
Or come and go, unless they 've feet or wings? 


They neither eat nor drink, nor come nor go. 


And do they never talk at all? 


How could thev, 
Having no heads nor mouths nor tongue nor teeth? 



Then what do they do? what use in them at all? 
They can't even think or feel, not having heads. 
I 'm sure I hope I '11 never be a spirit ; 
An angel or a cherub 's well enough, 
Or an archangel, but, if I 'd my choice, 
I 'd just as soon be nothing, as a spirit. 

Weinsberg, Wurttembekg, July 7, 1858. 


Christ's kingdom is of love, pure love alone; 

No touch of hatred has an entrance there. 

But, in his very nature, Man 's compounded 

Of love and hatred variously proportioned : 

A drachm of love, here, to an ounce of hatred; 

Hatred a drachm, there, to a whole pound of love; 

But no one without hatred, if 'twere only, 

To hate the evil as we love the good. 

Into Christ's kingdom, therefore, being of love, 

— Pure love alone - no shall find admittance, 

No man has ever found. What folloAvs thence? 

Why, that Christ's kingdom is to Man a blank, 

A void, a cypher, a non- entity, 

A grain of salt upon a bird's tail thrown 

To make the bird stand still until it 's caught. 

Be not your own dupes then, ye amiable, 

Simpleton pietists ; on Christ's gate 's written , 

Throw off the natural man ere here ye enter: 

That is to say, minus the figure of speech. 

For human nature, here, there 's no admittance. 

Walking from Zell on the Moselle, to Alf, July 21, 1858. 


(JNCE upon a time a young man 
Had a tree lie loved and cherished, 
Such a tree as young men often 
Have or may have — • old men, never. 

Deep and firm, not to be shaken, 
In the ground this tree was rooted ; 
Strong and straight the stem, and taper; 
Full of leaves and flowers, the branches. 

Day by day the young man watched it, 
Cared it, day by day, and watered ; 
Wondered why so slow the fruit came, 
Though it had so early blossomed. 

Year by year the young man watched it, 
Cared and pruned, manured and watered; 
Still no fruit, no fruit at all, came; 
Only buds and leaves and blossoms. 

Now the young man is an old man ; 
And his tree is dead and withered: — 
"It will bear fruit in the blue sky," 
Said the old man, with his last breath. 

Tell me, reader, if thou knowest. 
What the name is of that strange tree ; 
In thy mind's botanic garden. 
Hast thou a tree like it, growing? 

Walking from Rosamond, Rathgar Road, Dubltx, to Glenageaky, 
April 21, 1859. 


Ims bread 's my body, and this wine 's my blood 
Eat and drink freely, tliey are given for you. 


Capital, both; but for our natural horror 

Of cannibalism, we 'd wish thou wert a giant. 

Rosamond, Rathgar road, Dublin, March 21, 1859. 

GOD'S will be done! God's will is always good. 

Let God take from me my whole worldly substance. 

To the last penny; let God plague and vex me 

With pains and blotches and all kinds of sores ; 

Of sight and hearing, life itself deprive me ; 

God's will be done! God's will is always good. 

But let my neighbour in like fashion treat me, 

He is a rogue, a villain, my worst foe. 

Read me the riddle, reader, if thou canst: 

Why is the same thing good, at once, and bad — 

Bad at Man's hands received, and good at God's? 

Is it because in disrespect to Man, 

We call his act bad, which is good being God's? 

Or is 't because, in compliment to God, 

We call his act good, which is bad being Man's? 

Read me the riddle right, ingenuous reader. 

And thou shalt ever be my great Apollo. 

Walking fro-m Beftrich to Hontheim (Rhenish Prussia), July 21, 1858. 




— r OR, dust thou art, and slialt to dust return. 


If dust I am, and shall to dust return. 
All 's right. I shall return to what I am. 


Thou 'rt quite too literal ; I love a trope. 


That 's more than I do. I must fairly own 
I don't like to have sand thrown in mine eyes. 
Why make that harder still to understand, 
Which, in itself, is hard? The plainest speech 
Pleases me most. 


He '11 not make a bad Quaker. 


— And for thy sake the serpent too is cursed, 
Shall on his belly go, and eat the dust. 


That 's a trope too, no doubt. 


Why, half and half; 
Trope, he shall eat the dust; but literal 
And matter of fact, he shall go on his belly. 


Excuse me — on his back; for on his belly 
He goes at present and has always gone. 


Belly or back, 's small difference in a serpent; 
From either he '11 know how to bruise thy heel. 


But I '11 go in a carriage, ride on horseback, 
Or, if I go on foot, wear leather boots. 



Literal again! It would have saved some trouble 
^0 have put a few grains more of poetry 
Into the dull prose of thy composition. 


It can't be helped now; but next time you 're makin.- 
A thin- like me, with an immortal soul 
— For I 'm none of your dust, I 'm bold to tell you 
But an ethereal spirit in a case - 
'Twere well you 'd make him with sufficient wit 
lo understand your flights of poetry. 
Or, if not, that you 'd talk to him in prose. 
Rosamond, Rathgar Koad, Dublin, April 17, 1859. 


Upon their asses, mounted, with their wallets 

Forgathered once, upon the road to Bagdad, ' 

A travelling Dervis and a Bible - reader. 

In broken French as they beguiled the way 

Goodhumored and polite, the missionary 

Observed the Dervis's right cheek and eye 

Swollen as with toothache, and, compassionating 

Asked what was 't ailed him. "Toothache," said the Dervis- 

For three nights past, not one wink have I slept 
And every bit I eat, puts me to torture." 

"I praise thee that thou bcarest with due patience 
God's castigating hand," replied the Christian; 
"Sin merits punishment, and man 's a sinner." 
"And is that ass a sinner," said the Dervis, 
"That with thy cudgel thou layest on him 'so. 
Or wouldst thou only make him travel foster? 
I, for my part, bear patiently the toothache. 
Not as Heaven's retribution for my sins. 



But, as tliiiie ass bears patiently the cudgel, 

Because impatience would but make it worse. 

I 'd cure it, too, by drawing, had I only 

A dentist near me; which thou darest not do, 

Being bound, as a good Christian, not to kick 

Against thy sins' well merited chastisement — 

Bound not to disappoint and render void. 

By human Avit, Heaven's well considered purpose. 

He is a rebel against Heaven's high state 

Who owns his guilt, yet lifts his parrying hand 

Against Heaven's bastinado. Christian ! Christian ! 

A petty, peddling Cadi is thy God, 

By the few good scarce willingly obeyed, 

Boldly at nought set by the many bad. 

By good and bad, alike, obeyed is Allah, 

The Moslem's God, and what he wills is fate. 

Therefore I cure, if curable, my toothache ; 

Or bear with patience what must needs be borne." 

Walking- from Hontiirim to Mehren (Rhenish Prussia), July 22, 1858. 

Fainter, wouldst thou paint a young man, 

Paint him witli his eye fixed steady 

On the rising sun, before him; 

At his back, paint mists and darkness. 

In Hope's colours dip thy pencil ; 
Put enough of bright, blue sky in ; 
in the grass let lambs be frisking; 
Set on every spray a linnet. 

Paint him smooth, erect and comely. 
With his horse and hounds beside him; 
On the right hand or the left hand, 
Not far ofF, must stroll a maiden. 


Painter, wouldst thou paint a pendant 

For thy young man's finished portrait, 

See that old man, toward the ground stooped. 

On his pair of crutches leaning. 

Clouds and darkness are before him, 
Shutting out all forward prospect; 
At his back the sun is setting; 
Winter's winds are howling round him. 

Let thy lights be dim and misty; 
Dip in Memory's hues thy pencil; 
Leaden-coloured be the landscape; 
Deep and broad, spread out thy shadows. 

Leafless trees put in the background ; 
Rocks and stones, both sides the path, strew; 
In the foreground put a churchyard 
With the gate wide standing open. 

On the same wall hang both pictures. 
With the same name superscribe both, 
— Thine or mine or any body's — 
And the words : resurget uter ? 

Walking from Hillesheim to Stadt Kill (Rhenish Prussla.), July 24, 1858. 

He that has lost his last tooth may bid bold 
Defiance to the toothache. He, blessed man! 
Who draws his last breath may defy all pain. 
So happily constructed is the world. 
Ingrates ! that with so faint praise ye extol 
Your Maker's infinite beneficence. 
Walking from Hillesheim to Stadt Kill (Khenish Prussia), July 24, 1858. 



1 HAD a dream once, a strange dream, 
As in my bed I lay asleep 
At midnight, in the Villa Strozzi, 
Upon the Yiminal, in Rome. 

A man came riding on an ass; 
His head was bare, so were his feet; 
Nor other clothing had he on 
Than a shirt neither fine nor white, 
And a gray linsey-woolsey coat 
Made without lappet, seam or button. 
And with a cord girt round his waist, 
And, to his ancles, reaching down. 
Fair were his features, and his eyes 
Shone full of dignity and love; 
His hair fell loose upon his shoulders. 
Above him, in the air, two cherubs 
Held up, with one hand each, a crown; 
Alas! it was of thorns and bloody. 
Before him, on the ground, poor people 
Went strewing roses and palm branches; 
Before him and behind, went others 
Joyfully singing loud hosannas. 
As I looked wondering on, methought 
I heard a cry of: — "Clear the way: 
Clear the way for the Master's servant: 
Clear the way for his Holiness: 
Clear, for his Mightiness, the way." 
And the man mounted on the ass 
Drew to the road -side, and stood still; 
And the poor people who were singing, 


And strewing roses and palm branches, 

Drew up, on either side the road, 

Scarcely in time to avoid. the troopers 

Who, from behind, at quick, rude trot. 

With drawn swords glittering in their hands. 

Came riding up, about a hundred; 

The dust rose from their horses' feet; 

And some among them cursed and swore, 

Others talked ribaldry, and one, 

Stopping, cried with a jeer: — "Thou fellow, 

How much to boot besides this horse 

Wilt thou take for that beast of thine?" 

Another, with his sword's point pricking 

The ass's side, cried: — "Come, my hearty, 

Fall in, and ride along with us ; 

A merry life 's an outrider's 

Before the Holy Father's carriage." 

"What 's that thou say'st?" scoffed loud another; 

"The rogue ride in our company! 

Ride thigh by thigh with gentlemen ! 

I know a trick worth two of that — 

But there 's no time now — gallop on ; 

His Holiness drives fast, today: 

Out of the way, ye vagabonds ; 

Clear, for his Holiness, the way." 

He said, and gave his horse the spur. 

And forward dashed; and all the troopers 

Dashed forward, raising clouds of dust; 

And up behind came, at the instant, 

A carriage drawn by six black horses, 

All foaming, snorting, caracoling. 

All matches, all caparisoned 

In gold and silver and stones precious; 

Their very shoes with silver plated. 

The carriage was a moving throne 

— Of polished chocolate panels, part; 

Part, plate -glass windows framed in gold — 

And bore the papal arms emblazoned : 

Keys, and a triple diadem. 



Within, on crimson velvet cushions, 

In a complete suit of white satin. 

White frock, white cape, and white beretla, 

A portly personage sat lolling. 

From a gold chain about his neck 

Suspended hung, in gold and diamonds, 

The world's Redeemer on the cross. 

Outside his glove's forefinger glanced 

The diamonds of his signet ring. 

To judge from his effeminate, 

Soft, flabby, hairless cheeks and chin, 

And meek, adjusted mien, decorous, 

It is a woman or a eunuch. 

Sexagenarian; but look deeper. 

And in that dark, voluptuous eye, 

The male's most cherished vices see. 

Pride, cunning, selfishness, ambition. 

And — paramour of all the four. 

Now separately, now together — 

Incestuous, prostitute Religion. 

But stay — ■ he 's sick — or what has happened. 

That in such haste he stops the carriage 

And, through the open window, holds 

So serious parley with the coachman? 

As thus I said within myself. 

And, curious, nearer drew, methought 

One of three liveried footmen opened 

The carriage door, and he within, 

Descending, knelt upon the ground, 

And, reverent, kissed the dusty foot 

Of him that sat upon \\\(i ass. 

And said: — - "Hail, Master, Lord, and King! 

Look gracious down upon thy servant, 

And deign to make use of his carriage. 

It shameth him to see thee ride, 

Thus ill at ease, upon an ass, 

While he lolls in a cushioned carriage. 

Nay, be not angry, dreaded Lord, 

But get thee up into the carriage, 

35 -i* 

And I, as it befits the servant, 

"Will mount the ass and ride behind." 

"My father sent me, not to ride 

In cushioned carriages," replied 

The man upon the ass, severe, 

"But patiently to do the work. 

And bear the floutings, of a servant." 

"Far be it from my Lord and King, 

Far be it," said the man in satin, 

And gently raised, and, with the help 

Of the three liveried footmen, placed 

The Unresisting in the carriage; 

Then bade the coachman drive on slow, 

And mounted on the ass, and followed. 

Which when the people saw, some smiled. 

And some said: — "It 's the work of Satan." 

And others shook their heads and said: — 

"Who ever saw so strange Palm Sunday?" 

And not a few said in their hearts, 

The Holy Father, sure, 's gone mad. 

And every one took up a palm branch, 

And went, toward home, his separate way; 

And I, with strained and aching eye, 

Gazed after rider, ass, and carriage, 

Till, at a turning of the road, 

All disappeared, and I awoke 

With chattering teeth, and hair on end; 

Cold, clammy sweat from every pore 

Oozing; my knees together knocking; 

And my heart fluttering in my breast, 

Like a bird in a fowler's trap. 

I could unblcnched have seen the sun 

Start from his sphere, the moon and planets 

Turn into blood, a comet's tail 

Sweep the earth's surface like a besom; 

But honor, more than in mere words, 

To Christ shown by the sovereign Pontiff, 

The Church's representative, 

The deputy of Christendom, 


Was such reversal of all law, 
All custom and morality, 
All piety and true religion, 
All decency and godliness, 
That I looked round about, to see — 
Not Christ, triumphant in the clouds, 
But Satan and a thousand demons; 
And listened — not for the last trump. 
But hissing snakes and amphisbaenas. 
But nothing came ; no Satan, demons ; 
No hissing snakes, no amphisbaenas ; 
And, by degrees my heart's throb ceasing, 
And calm returning to my spirit, 
I rose, dressed, breakfasted, walked out, 
And paid a visit to a friend. 
And, up and down, along the Corso 
Paced, till I satisfied myself 
The world was wagging as it wagged 
The day before, and had wagged ever. 
So, when I went to bed, that night, 
I lay upon the other ear. 
And put my bible underneath, 
And of the world dreamt as it is. 
And was, when Christ was crucified. 
And will for ever be — Amen! 
Edenville, Mount - Merrion Avenue, near Dublin, Octob. 20, 1858. 

"Os homini sublime dedit, caelumqiie tueri 
Jiissit, et erectos ad sidera toUere vultus." 

Reason shines in his front erect, they say, 
And royalty, and empire o'er the beast. 
Why, to be sure! who doubts it? but look close 
Malice prepense is strongest pictured there. 

Walking from Edenville to Dublin, Oct. 29, 1858. 




lELL me, Tommy, what was it put you 
In this mighty, towering- passion, 
With your cheeks as white as paper, 
With your eyes, like lightning, flashing? 


Billy said I was a liar; 
That 's what put me in a passion ; 
I 'd have torn his very eyes out, 
Torn his heart out — if he has one. 


Billy's calling you a liar. 
Should not put you in a passion ; 
Passion is a bad thing. Tommy; 
You should not give way to passion. 


Should or should not, I couldn't help it; 
Billy's word it was that did it 
I 'm as sorry as you can be, 
I was put into a passion. 



Use your reason, and you will not 
Fall into a passion. Tommy; 
Keason 's cool and calm and placid, 
Never falls into a passion. 



To be sure, sir; but away flew 
Reason, at the word, "you liar!" 
And, in reason's place, came passion — 
1 'd have torn his very eyes out. 


There the wrong was. 


Sir, I know it; 
'Twas a wrong thing, dnd I 'm sorry; 
But I could no more have helped it 
Than I could have stopped my heart's beat. 


It was wrong, and you must therefore 
Be severely punished. Tommy; 
Bread and water for a whole week; 
And three pandies, night and morning. 


I deserve it, dnd I hope 'twill 
Make my passion slower, next time; 
Make my reason not awdy fly 
Quite so quick, when I 'm called liar. 


All right, Tommy; that 's a good boy; 
And I 'm glad you 're so repentant. 
Go now and pray to your Maker 
To forgive you for your passion. 


No, sir; never. 'Twas my Maker 
Gave me reason, both, and passion; 
Made the one so strong and sudden, 
Made so weak and slow, the other. 


To suppose my Maker angry 
At my being what lie made me, 
Is the same as to suppose he 's 
Passionate himself, or silly. 

You mayn't like me as he made me, 

And may punish me to change me; 

I submit; it 's my misfortune 

— I myself don't think I 'm w^ll made — 

But my Maker cannot blame me; 

As he made me, so he has me. 

Why he made me so, I know not; > 

That 's his business, none of mine, sir. 

Edenville, Mount - Merrion Avenue, near Dublin, Sept. 16, 1858. 


f ROM my youth up, I 've put small faith in judgments, 

And have been wont to see in the quick lightnings. 

And hear in the loud thunder, not the voice 

And quivering missiles of an angry God, 

But the reagency of inert matter.^ 

The workings of attraction and repulsion. 

The play of elements, the game of chance; 

Even at the top height of the storm, I 've scoffed, 

Presented my bare head, and bid it strike : 

But, seven church-steeples splintered in one night. 

The very bells fused, and the balls and crosses 

Flung from their pinnacles to lie in dunghills! — 

I own myself a convert; Heaven 's awake, 

And to abate the first, most crying nuisance. 

Sets himself, first; Astraea to the earth 

Returns from her long exile. Truth, cheer up; 

Down-beaten Honesty, lift high thy head. 

Edenville, Oct. 11, 1858. 


IHE poet's proper aim, they say, 's to please — 
To please, by all means; if lie can, to instruct; 
And lie best poet is, who pleases most; 
Second-best poet he, who most instructs. 
So be it: the first place give to Moore and Byron, 
And bid me stand down, lowly, in the second; 
For my aim, my one, sole aim 's to instruct. 
And sapere my fons is, and principium, 
And, for the waters of that fountain sometimes 
Taste brackish, I mix with them honey drops 
The Muse culls for me out of cowslip bells 
And wild thyme, growing high upon Parnassus. 
Drink freely, reader, of the fear- dispelling. 
Fiend- exorcising draught, and be a man. 

Edenville, Sept. 6, 1858. 

nEADACHE and heartache, toothache and the rheum 

Divide his hours between them, leaving scarce 

Vacance sufficient, to the demigod. 

For eating, drinking, toilette, toil and sleep. 

And then he dies — alas, poor demigod ! — 

And goes to heaven, unwilling; there to live 

In perfect bliss, a disembodied spirit, 

And, without help of heart, lungs, voice or breath, 

Loud hallelujahs chant for evermore. 

Edenville, Sept. 2, 1858. 


Learn something eveiy day, and every night 
Lie wiser down than you arose in the morning, 

— A youthful, empty head 's ridiculous 
Upon old shoulders — only in religion 
And politics learn nothing; abiding, still, 
Unflinching faithful to the first -learned creed, 

— Your mother's, or your nurse's, or grandmother's — 
And, of your father's party, to the death. 

So shall no man, with scornful finger pointing. 

Say "There he goes, the renegade; the turncoat"; 

And so, when death relieves thee from this flesh. 

Thy spirit shall ascend to heaven, secure 

Of a reserved seat among God's elect. 

The faithful found, through good report and ill, 

The immovable by argument of reason. 

Walking from Dalkf.y to Edenville, November, 1858. 

Where three roads met, stood Hecate with three heads, 

Looking, with every head, a difl^erent way. 

On the confines of Hades and the light. 

Three -headed Cerberus barked three diflerent ways: 

Toward earth, and deepest hell, and highest heaven. 

Baton in one hand, heaven's keys in the other. 

On Jove's gold threshold stood ambiguous Janus, 

And, with two difl*erent heads, looked different ways. 

Art thou a monster too? hast th(5u two heads, 

Or three heads, that thou so lookest different ways: 

Toward earth, at once, and heaven and deepest hell? 


Nay, I belie thee, friend; thou dost but squint; 
Standest on earth one -headed, and toward heaven 
Blink'st with the one eye, toward hell with the other. 
Come, come; cease fooling; dare to be a man, 
A habitant — as thou art — of this, one world; 
And heaven to angels leave, and hell to devils. 
And, with thy one head and two eyes, look straight. 

Walking from EDE^WILLI-: to Fassaroe in the Co. Wickloav, Sept. 11, 1858. 



ii/VERY thing has a cause, my atheist friend, 
And that which causes every thing is God. 


If every thing a cause has, theist friend, 
Either your God is nothing, or is caused. 
If he is nothing, how is he your God? 
And how is he your God, if he is caused? 
In either case he 's not the cause of all. 
And, not being cause of all, is not your God. 


I own, it is above our human reason. 


Nay, theist friend, no paltering; not above. 
But contrary point-blank to, human reason: 
Reason's conclusion 's positive: "not your God." 


Then I give reason up, vain human reason. 
And cling to faith, where only I find truth. 


Renouncing reason, me too you renounce; 
I parley only with the rational — 
A keeper, here, and cell, for the insane! 
Edenville, Oct. 1, 1858. 


Easiest of all to understand, is that 

In which there is no manner of sense at all; 

The APOCALYPSE, for instance, or a sonnet 

Of Wordsworth's on the purling Duddon stream, 

Or Mrs. Browning's seraphim august, 

Or Pollok's COURSE of time, magnificent. 

These are the works for vulgar intellects suited ; 

Here I 'm at home, at ease ; expatiate here ; 

These are the golden fields which yield like harvest 

To my blunt, and to Newton's trenchant, sickle. 

Gracious Apollo, never let me want 

New Wordsworths, Brownings new, and new Saint Johns 

And Polloks, and I '11 never, while I 've breath, 

Cease to adore thy name, and chant thy praise. 

Walking from Edenville to Dalkey, Oct. 30, 1858. 


li/NOUGH for thee — sweet, smiling babe - 
Thy coral bells and cradle's span; 

Thou 'It with a world be discontent, 
When grown up to a man; 

And thou 'It forget the smiling babe, 
Its coral bells and cradle's span, 

And arrogate, beyond the clouds, 
Another world for Man. 

EosAMOND , Ratiigak Koad , DuBLiN , Mai'ch IG, 1860. 


A true story. 

Dora had a maid of all work, 
Who was cook, at once, and butler, 
Housemaid, kitchen-maid, and laundress, 
Milked the cows and made the butter. 

Eight long years with Dora, Betty- 
Lived through every change of weather, 
Storm and rain and hail and sunshine. 
Smiles and frowns and praise and chiding. 

None so well as Betty kn^w her 
Mistress's and master's kidney; 
None so well as Betty made her 
Action handmaid to her knowledge. 

Betty had been reared religious. 

And didn't doubt that both her master 

And her mistress would to hell go. 

For she knew they hadn't the right faith. 

But no word of this said Betty, 
Lest she might not get so snug place 
And so good and kind a mistress, 
Even among God's own elected. 

So when Dora staid at home on 
Sundays, Betty staid at home, too, 
And would scour a pot or kettle, 
If need were, and no one looking; 


Nay, would risk, a very odd time, 
An ungodly innuendo, 
If she had a point to gain, and 
Clear and cloudless shone the welkin. 

Eight years so, they lived together. 
Maid and mistress, well contented, 
— Dora, with her clever servant. 
With her good, kind mistress, Betty — 

When, in luckless hour, behold! the 
String, gave way, of Betty's pocket. 
And, before the mistress' own eyes, 
Betty's plunder strowed the carpet: — 

"Betty! Betty! what 's all this?" said 
Betty's mistress, pale and trembling, 
"All my care and pains and teaching. 
These long eight years, gone for nothing 

"It 's no harm," said Betty, sturdy, 
"1 did only what the rest do; 
Every one takes tea and sugar, 
Bread and meat and cold potatoes." 

"I expected better of you ; 

In my house I '11 not a thief keep; 

Go in peace," said Dora, sadly. 

And upon the spot discharged her: — 

"You '11 put 'honest' in the paper?" 
"No, indeed; that were a foul lie; 
An encouragement to theft, a 
Gross injustice to the honest." 

"1 'm as honest as there need be; 
Honester you '11 not find many; 
If you 're wise you '11 cither keep me, 
Or write 'honest' in the paper." 



"i 'm not wise, and won't do either," 
Dora said, and packed off Betty, 
Though her heart bled to discharge her 
Without 'honest' in her paper. 

"But I have no choice," said Dora; 
"I should be the thief s accomplice. 
Were T in my house to keep her. 
Or subscribe my name to 'honest'." 

Betty 's gone to Dora's neighbour, 
Shows her paper, tells her story; 
Matty hires her on the instant; 
All the country laughs at Dora. 

Betty's new place is a good one,' 
Than her old one, has more pickings ; 
Betty 's lauded, Matty envied; 
All the country laughs at Dora. 

Matty has got a clever servant; 

A religious mistress, Betty: 

Not one word against the true faith, 

If you 'd keep your new place, Betty; 

But to chapel go, or meeting, 
Every Sunday round the whole year, 
With white, folded handkerchief, and 
Bible, in your hand, or prayerbook; 

And fear nothing, though all week through, 
Every day, it 's Matty's wonder, 
That the stripper 's run so near dry, 
That the oatmeal sack 's so empty. 

Nothing fear; you 're quite safe, Betty; 
Matty will discharge you 'honest', 
And you '11 get a better place than 
Dora's ever was, or Matty's; 


Or, if things come to the worst, and 
Matty woA't the lie direct sign, 
Says she 'd rather bear the odium — • 
What need Betty care for 'honest'? 

Matty's self took her without it, 
Matty's best friend will the same do; 
Forward, Betty, with a stout heart; 
Put your trust in God, and thieve on. 

In the meantime Dora looks out 

For another maid of all work, 

And, long searching, lights at last on 

And to terms with 'honest' Rose comes. 

Rose is lazy, awkward, stupid; 
Scarce knows how to boil the kettle, 
Or the cloth lay, or the cows milk. 
Not to talk of making butter. 

One half Dora's work 's left undone, 
Dora's self the other half does, 
Scrubs and brushes, leads a slave's life; 
Every night, lies, tired, in bed, down; 

Every morning, rises early 
To help Rose on with her day's work, 
Frets and fumes and scolds, alternate. 
Often thinks of clever Betty, 

But says nothing, still works on with 
Stupid Rose, for Rose is honest — 
Do you know why, gentle reader? 
Rose's pocket- string 's a strong one. 

Rosamond, Ratiigau Road, Dublin, July 20, 1859. 


"Anbete du das I'euer hundert Jahr, 
Dann fall' hinein und dich frisst's mit Haut und Haar." 


A HUNDRED years long, to the fire thou mayst pray; 
At the end, it will burn thee as 't did the first day. 
And pray to the water a hundred years long, 
At the end, it will drown thee, so says the old song; 
And the old song says right, and right sdys Goethe too, 
Though I own I would rather have heard something new. 

Rosamond, March 15, 1860. 


A BOLDER rebel against God than Korah, 

Monk Martin broke his vows and married Bora. 

Satan would not his friend leave in the lurch, 

And whispered in his ear: — "Reform the Church." 

The Monk the hint took, and the Reformation 

Bl^w from a spark into a conflagration : 

Gray -headed men took lessons from raw youth, 

Bold heresy was preached in name of truth. 

The laity the cup got, and the priest, 

From his celibatary vow released, 

A ring slipped on his penitent's fair hand. 

And soul and body placed at her command; 

And bishops brought their wives with them to court; 

And Satan in his sleeve "laughed at the sport. 

Returning from Dai-key to Rosamond, Jan. 29, 1860. 



1 don't know where heaven is, or what is heaven, 
Or why there should be any heaven at all; 
Of hell I know as little; and of limbo, 
If it be possible, I know still less. 

Nothing is good to me but what I like. 

Nor any thing but what I don't like, bad. 

My likings and dislikings are instinctive. 

By habit, modified, and circumstance, 

And changeable, with change of time and place, 

Into their opposites, respectively. 

There 's no such thing as absolute right and wrong 
What right is, by one rule, is wrong by another; 
And vice versa. So the selfsdme thing 
Is, at the selfsame time, both right and wrong; 
And every thing in the whole world, is right, 
And wrong, in the whole world, is every thing. 

My will is free, for will means but free will; 
My acts are fr6e too, being my fr^e will's acts : 
But my free will is caused, and not by me; 
Caused, therefore, not by me are my free acts ; 
For which, however, because done by me. 
Though not by mi caused, I 'm responsible 
To every thing or person they affect, 
To the fire, if into it I put my hand, 


To Man, as to the viper, if I go 

N6ar him or touch; and every thing to me 

fs in like wise responsible that comes 

N^ar me or touches — viper, fire, or Man. 

Every existence is responsible 

To every other, is reacted -on 

By that on which it acts ; and what men call, 

Par excellence, responsibility, 

Is neither more nor less than the accustomed 

Reaction of the whole upon the part, 

Society's upon the individual. 

That which society approves, is moral; 

Immoral, what society disapproves. 

According to its likings and dislikings. 

Society approves or disapproves. 

With change of time and place and circumstance, 

Society's likings and dislikings change, 

Even as the individual's — for, made up 

Of individuals is society — 

And moral is, today, and praised and honored, 

What, yesterday, was punished as a crime; 

And that, today, is punished as a crime. 

Which, yesterday, was moral, praised and honored. 

Ay! there 's an alchemy in time and place, 

Potent to turn the malefactor's gibbet 

Into the sdint's palm and the martyr's crown; 

Or as the case may be, the martyr's crown 

And saint's palm, into ignominious gibbet. 

I have a soul, they say, must have a soul. 
For matter is not conscious, cannot think: 
And so the question 's settled, I 've a soul. 
And then the question comes: what is a soul? 
And then the answer comes: an immaterial, 
Spiritual, subtile thing, to matter joined, 
To think for matter, which can't think for itself. 
Agreed; and -this same immaterial, subtile, 
Spiritual thing whose evidence is thought. 
What is it, in plain terms, but thought itself, 

SI 4* 

The property or attribute of some, 
As gravitation of all, forms of matter? 

Of death I nothing know but that it 's death, 
The end of life, the extinction of the spark — 
Never again to glow among these embers. 

I have no faculties that reach beyond 

The confines of the universe; can conceive 

Nothing outside of time, outside of space. 

Cause and effect are but paired antecedent 

And consequent, within the universe, 

A sequence which implies both time and space. 

Seek'st still beyond the universe a cause 

To make and govern 't? Nay, thou seekest not. 

Thou hast already found one. Let me see it: 

Why, that 's a second universe to explain 

The existence of the first. Well! I 'm content; 

But thou, to be consistent, must invent 

A third, to explain the existence of the second, 

A fourth, to explain the third — and so, for ever. 

Healthy, my creed; limps on no gouty toe; 
Needs no supporting crutch of priest or prophet. 
Angel or council, miracle or Book. 
Take 't, if thou likest it; leave 't, if lik'st it not: 
Truth busies not herself with making converts. 

Walking from Rosamond to Tibradden (Co. Dublin), May 13, 1859. 

iHE conscious water saw its God and blushed." 
Ay, pious Crashaw; blushed to have such a God. 

Rosamond, August 1, 1859. 


If it 's right to do it, 
God will do it 

Without your praying; 
If it 's wrong to do it, 
God won't do it, 

For all your saying; 

"When the horse has need, 
Sends him his feed, 

Without his neighing; 
Won't, for the ass. 
Turn stones to grass. 

For all his braying," 

In aunty's ear. 

At morning prayer, 

Lisped Tommy, once; 
Then down -stairs ran 
To three -hole -span — 

The little dunce! 

Rosamond, March 17, 1860. 

rvM&t oeavtof 

Know thyself, said Apollo. Our God says 

Know thyself not, touch not the tree of knowledge. 

Oiir God is right; the ignorant alone 

— Bear witness, playful, envied child — is happy. 

KosAMOND, Febr. 15, 1860. 


It is a star. — And what 's to me a star, 
A twinkling star, up there in the dark §ky? 
Nothing, not even so much as a grain of sand 
Or mustard -seed, which I may touch or taste, 
Or moss-rose bud which I am free to smell to; 
And yet, methinks, it is a greater world. 
Fuller of joys and sorrows than even this, 
Fuller of hopes and fears and change and death, 
But not more idle, false, and to no purpose. 

KosAMOND, July 22, 1859. 

OlXTY-FIVE years ago, or it may be seventy, 

The clock was made, wound up, and set a -ticking; 

And, from that day to this, kept ticking on, 

Summer and winter, day and night, incessant, 

Not for its own good or to please itself, 

But in obedience to the mechanist 

Who, for his own ends, set it first a-going, 

And placed it where it best might serve his purpose; 

And now that it 's worn out and cracked and silent 

And to its last end come, thou pitiest it, 

Forsooth, and makest over it thy moan 

— Goodnatured man ! — because its task 's performed, 

Its labour at an end, and not because 

'Twill never more help thee to count thy time. 

Rosamond, July 21, 1859. 




Iwo famous hunters, Sceptic and Believer, 

Stand saddled in the stable, choose between them. 

Believer 's headstrong, leaps before he looks, 

And never was a ditch so broad and deep. 

Or fence so high, that he 'd refuse to take it. 

But Sceptic 's cautious, looks before he leaps. 

And goes so safe and sure, a child might ride him. 


Turn out Believer; he 's the nag for m^, 
To ride the steeple- chase and win the cup. 
Mount you on cautious Sceptic, and come after. 


Very well, sir; and, if you chance to fall, 

Sceptic and I will pick your Honor up: 

Soh, Sceptic! stand! — Away now! — Tally-ho! 

EosAMOND, April 29, 1859. 

OTONE -BLIND, Assisi's saint; else, with so long 
And steadfast contemplation, he had seen 
Not into, only, but quite through, the Godhead — 
Stay, I am wrong; the more your saints consider. 
The less they understand, and tout en regie 
Was holy Saint Franciscus of Assisi. 
Rosamond, March 19, 1860. 


Impossible, impossible remains, 

In spite of Gods', in spite of mortals', pains; 

And POSSIBLE requires no God to do it — • 

Your silliest child, ere you mistaught him, knew it. 

Rosamond, April 28, 1860. 

IhE difference essential between man and b^ast, 
I once h^ard a fool sdy, is that man needs a priest, 

And to heaven or to h^ll, must go, either; 
While the beast is so honest, so simple, so true, 
With a priest he has n6thing, while living, to do, 

And, when dead, goes to heaven or hell, neither. 

Rosamond, May 14, 18G0. 

(jOD either did not choose, or was not able, 
Making this world so fair, to make it stable 
At the same time; so, when it got a kick, 
Away it went, a- trundling, to Old Nick. 
To get it back, God tugged with all his might, 
But Satan, in his strong clutch, held it tight; 
A bit broke off, which God got for his pains; 
With Satan, to this day, the rest remains. 

Rosamond, Febr. 5, 18G0. 


Once upon a time I prayed God 
Thdt he 'd kindly please to give me 
Sana mens in corpore sano; 
And God gave me what I prdyed for. 

Foolish man ! that did not pray for 
Impudence, and ease of manner, 
And a supple, ductile conscience, 
And the one and only true faith. 

F6r I 'd like to know what good in 
Sana mens in corpore sano. 
With the whole world laughing at you 
Just because you are such an odd fish ? 

KosAMOND, July 6, 1859, 

From the Vighur. 

Oo gross and impious fanatics, these Rayas, 

As to believe, the spiritual God 

— The maker of the world and all things in it - 

Entered a woman's body and was born, 

And eat and drank, digested, and wore clothes, 

And at the trade, worked, of a carpenter. 

And went about, poor, suffering, and despised, 

And died and in the grave was laid a corpse. 

Which there became live flesh and blood again, 

And rose out of the earth, and eat and drank, 

Talked, walked, and did, in all things, as before, 

Till suddenly, one day, in sight of all. 


It soared into the air away, and vanished. 

Stranger and more incredible than this, 

And more impossible, they believe, these Rayas, 

That this same God — who took with him his body 

Up through the air to heaven, and bodily 

Sits there upon his throne amidst the angels — 

Is eaten daily by them and his blood 

Drunk daily — horrible abomination. 

Not even by cannibals to be perpetrated! 

Walking from Rosamond to Glenageary, May 3, 1859. 


"God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," 

May, nay, my pretty lamb, you must not struggle so; 
No harm will happen to you; God is good and kind, you know. 
And will temper to the shorn lamb the sharp and biting wind; 
So stand quiet till I clip you, and be patient and resigned. 


It 's not enough to rob me, but you must humbug too! 

Why doesn't your good and kind God temper the wind to you? 

And if the wind 's not cold, but tempered soft and warm, 

What need have you of my coat to shield you from the storm? 

So let me go, dissembler false, more cruel and unkind 

Than hail and rain and frost and snow, and sharp and biting wind. 

Rosamond-, July 6, 1859. 

Religions change; the new drives out the old; 
But foolish Man remains religious ever. 
Rosamond, May 6, 1860. 


IHOU need's! not punish us, revengeful Maker, 

For disobeying thy behest, and eating 

The tempting fruit thy goodness placed in our way ; 

Poison enough the fruit, to be, without 

More pains -taking of thine, our deep damnation. 

Thy second hell, thy still more deep damnation. 

Bestow not upon us, but in reserve 

Keep for some new creation of thy love. 

Some still more favored offspring of almighty 

Power, wisdom, forecast, and beneficence. 

KosAMOND, Febr. 16, 1860. 

Away with Gods! away with Fate 
Away with Fortune! mine estate 
Lies in my right hand ; what I do, 
Nor Gods^ Fate, Fortune can undo. 

Rosamond, April 28, 1860. 

IHERE is one folly which exceeds all others, 
And that one folly is the resurrection ; 
Life, when all things which with life have relation, 
All things which make life possible, have perished; 
Life, after life is over — Fool! fool! 
Rosamond, May 11, 1860. 


IT is a lovely sight to see 
All nature with one mind agree 
To praise the God takes care of all 
Created things, both great and small : 
Both of the herring and the whale, 
Both of the duck and of the snail, 
Both of the fly and of the spider, 
Both of the steed and of the rider. 
Both of the buyer and the seller, 
Both of the liar and truth - teller. 
Both of the tree and of the ax, 
Both of the tax -payer and tax, 
Both of the flax and of the scutcher, 
Both of the lamb and of the butcher, 
Both of the eater and the eaten. 
Both of the beater and the beaten, 
Both of the loser and the winner, 
Both of the sinned against, and sinner. 
Both of the greyhound and the hare, 
Both of the rabbit and the snare. 
Both of the honey and the bear. 
Both of the chicken and the kite. 
Both of the black man and the white, 
Both of the patient and the doctor. 
Both of the heir and of the proctor. 
Both of the colt and the colt- breaker. 
Both of the thief and the thief- tdker. 
Both of the fool and of the wise man, 
Both of the malt and the exciseman, 
Both of the catch -poll and the debtor. 
Both of the partridge and the setter, 


Both of the ass and of the cadger, 
Both of the bull -dog and the badger, 
Both of the good and of the evil, 
Both of Saint Michael and the Devil; 
Both of the ship snug on the stocks, 
And of the ship dashed on the rocks 
Or on a sandbank run aground 
And every soul it carried, drowned; 
Both of the train that at the station 
Disgorges safe its population, 
And of the train that off the line 
Runs helter-skelter down th' incline. 
Making a smash of heads, arms, legs, 
As if they were so many eggs. 
Ah! hard of heart and reprobate, 
That not in Providence but Fate 
The spinner of the totum see, 
Repent in time, and praise, with me, 
The God that takes such care of all 
Created things, both great and small, 
Assists not church alone and nation 
In action and deliberation, 
But stdnds by, while I nib my pen, 
To help, if there be need — amen ! 

Rosamond, March 15, 1860. 

WAPOLEON, ambidexter, with one hand 
Props up the Pope, with the other pulls him down; 
The Pope, in gratitude, props up Napoleon 
With 6ne hand, with the other pulls him down; 
So down they b6th go, down, sing derry down, 
Down, down, sing derry down. When rogues fall out. 
Honest men have a chance to come by their own. 
Rosamond, March, 1860. 


"Non eqiiitem dorso, non frenum depiilit ore." 

Pray Heaven forgive me! but I never hear 
Cliurcli bells or see a priest, I do not think 
Of the poor horse and spurred and booted rider. 

Rosamond, March 17, 1860. 

Pro DEO, LEGE, REGE. Why? because 

Weak, and in need of help, God, king, and laws. 

Rosamond, March 19, 1860. 

Some say the world by accident was made; 
The world was by design made, others say. 
Fools! that know not that making and design 
And accident are but parts of the world. 

Rosamond, Octob. 5, 1859. 


All these are blest; but doubly blest 
Are those who don't believe : 

Who nothing from the Lord expect, 
How can he them deceive? 

Rosamond, March 15, 1860. 


Why did God give Man reason, make him wise, 
But that he should trust neither ears nor eyes? 
Why did God give Man faith, but lest he should 
Become, by reason, too wise and too good? 

Rosamond, Majrch 16, 1860. 

IT is an apple — Ay me! so it is; 
So harmless looking, yet so full of harm ! 
Stay; not so headlong fast; let me consider: 
The harm was in the tasting, not the apple. 
Yet made the apple, only to be tasted ; 
So in the apple's maker, was the harm.. 
But for the tasting, there had been no harm ; 
But for the apple, there had been no tasting; 
But for the maker, there had been no apple; 
So from the maker solely came the harm. 
The maker made the taster, both, and apple; 
So from the maker doubly came the tasting, 
And doubly from the maker came the harm. 

Rosamond, July 24, 1859. 

Jove reigns supreme in heaven, and Dis in hell, 
But the earth's sovereign 's the "almighty dollar." 

Rosamond, June 25, 1859. 




It 's true, good Sceptic; therefore I believe it. 


But why is 't true? First answer me that question. 


What I believe so firmly, must be true. 
Kill me you may, but never while I live, 
Never, shall you persuade me it is false. 
Stronger than human reason is my faith ; 
God has declared it true, God can't deceive. 


Other men by their Gods have been deceived. 


Theirs were false Gods; my God 's the God of truth. 


Please be so good, sir, not to beg the question, 
But show why true your God, and none but yours. 


Blasphemer, silence ! tempt not the Lord God ; 
Nor with your Baals and Ashtaroths compare 
The living, everlasting Elohim. 


'Do manus victas', and in Reason's name, 

And in the name of Common Sense, beg pardon. 

Rosamond, April 29, 1859. 





On the (Idy before the first day, 
God was tired with doing nothing, 
And determined to rise early 
On the next day and do something. 

So, upon the next day, God rose 
Very early, and the light made — 
You must know that until that day 
God had always lived in darkness : — 

"Bravo! bravo! that 's a good job," 
Sdid God, when his eye the light caught 
"NoAv, I think, 1 '11 try and make me 
A convenient place to live in.'' 

So, upon the next day, God rose 
At the dawn of flight, and heaven made. 
And, from that day forward, never 
Wanted a snug box to live in: — 

'*Well! a little work is pleasant," 
Sdid God, "and besides it 's useful: 
What a pity I 've so long sat 
Dumping, mumping, doing nothing ! " 

So, upon the third day, God made 
This round ball of land and water. 
And, with right thumb and forefinger. 
Set it, like teetotum, spinning; 


Spinning, twirling like teetotum, 
Round and round about, the ball went. 
While God clapped his hands, delighted, 
And called th' angels to look At it. 

Who made th' angels? if you ask me, 
i reply: — that 's more than I know; 
For if God had, I don't doubt but 
H6 'd have put them in his catalogue: 

But no matter — some one made them, 
And they came about him flocking, 
Wondering at the sudden fit of 
Manufacturing that had taken him: — 

"it 's a pretty ball," they all said; 
"Do, pray, tell us what 's the use of it; 
Won't you make a gr^at many of them? 
W6 would like to see them trundling." 

"Wait until tomorrow," said God, 
"And I think I '11 show you something; 
This is quite enough for one day. 
And you know I 'm but beginning." 

So, about noon, on the fourth day, 
God called th' angels all about him, 
And showed them the great big ball he 'd 
Made to give light to the little one. 

"What!" said th' angels, "such a big ball. 
Just to give light to a little one! 
That 's bad management, and you know, too. 
You had plenty of light without it." 

"Not ([uitc plenty," stiid God, snappish, 
"For the light 1 made the first day, 
Although good, was rather scanty, 
►scarce enough for me to woik by. 


"And besides how was it possible, 

If I had not made the big ball, 

To have given the little one seasons, 

Days and years and nights and mornings? 

"So, you see, there was nothing for it 
But to fix the little ball steady, 
And, about it, set the big one 
Topsy-turvying as you here see." 

"It 's the big ball w^ see steady, 
And the little one round it whirling," 
Said the angels, by the great light 
Dazzled, and their eyebrows shading: — 

"None of your impertinence," said God, 
Growing more vexed every moment; 
"I know that, as well as you do, 
But T don't choose you should say it. 

"1 have set the big ball steady, 
\nd the little one spinning round it, 
But 1 've told you just the opposite, 
And the opposite you must swear to." 

'Anything you say, we '11 swear to," 
Said the angels, humbly bowing; 
"Have you anything more to show us? 
We 're so fond of exhibitions." 

'Yes," said God, "what was deficient 
In the lighting of the little ball. 
With this pretty moon I 've made up, 
And these little, twinkling stars here." 

"Wasn't the big ball big enough?" said 
With simplicity the angels : — 
"Couldn't, without a miracle," said God, 
"Shine at once on back and front side." 


"There you 're quite rigiit," said the angels. 
"And we think you show your wisdom, 
In not squandering miracles on those 
Who believe your word without them. 

"But do tell us why you Ve so far 
From your little ball put your little stars; 
One would think they didn't belong to it; 
Scarce one in a thousand shines on it." 

"To be sure I could have placed them 
So much nearer," said God smiling, 
"That the little ball would have b^en as 
Well lit with some millions fewer; 

"But I 'd like to know of what use 
To th' Omnipotent such economy — 
Can't I make a million million stars 
Quite as easily as one star?" 

"Eight, again," said th' angels; "th^re can 
Be no manner of doubt about it." 
"Thdt 's all now," said God; "tomorrow, 
Come again, and ye shall more see." 

When the angels came the next day, 
God indeed had not been idle. 
And they saw the little ball swarming 
With all kinds of living creatures. 

There they went in pairs, the creatures, 
Of all sizes, shapes and colors, 
Stalking, hopping, leaping, climbing, 
Crawling, burrowing, swimming, flying. 

Squealing, singing, roaring, grunting. 
Barking, braying, mewing, howling, 
Chuckling, gabbling, crowing, quacking, 
Cawing, croaking, buzzing, hissing. 


Such assembly there has never, 
From that ddy clown, been on earth seen; 
Fr6m that day down, such a concert 
Th^re has never been on earth heard; 

For, there, ramping and their maker 
Praising in their various fashions, 
W^re all God's created species, \ 

AH except the fossilized ones; 

For whose absence on that gredt day, 
The most likely cause assigned yet. 
Is that th^y were quite forgotten 
And would not go uninvited. 

But let that be ds it may be, 
All th' unfossilized ones were there. 
Striving which of them would noisiest 
Praise bestow upon their maker. 

"Well," said th' angels, when they 'd looked on 
Silently, some time, and listened; 
"Well, you surely have a strange taste; 
What did you make all these queer things for?" 

"Come tomorrow and I '11 show you," 
Sdid God, gleeful, his hands rubbing; 
"All you 've yet seen 's a mere nothing 
T(5 what you shall see tomorrow." 

So, when th' angels came the n^xt day 

AH tiptoe with expectation, 

And stretched necks and eyes and ears out 

Towards the new world, God said to them : — 

"There he is, my last and best work; 
Th^re he is, the noble creature; 
I told you, you should see something; 
Whdt do you say now? hdve I word kept?" 


"Where, wliere is lie?" said the aiif^-els ; 
"We see nothing but the little ball 
With its big ball, moon and little stars 
And queer, yelping, capering kickshaws." 

"I don't well know what you medn by 
Kickshaws," sdid God, scarcely quite pleased, 
"But, among my creatures yonder. 
Don't you see one nobler figure? 

"By his strong, round, tail -less buttocks, 
And his flat claws you may know him. 
Even were he not so like me 
Thdt we might pass for twin brothers." 

"Now we see him," said the angels; 
"How is 't possible we o'erlooked him ? 
H6 's indeed your very image. 
Only smaller and less handsome." 

"So I hope the mystery 's cleared up," 
Said God, with much self-complacence, 
"And you are no longer puzzled 
What I 've been about, these six days." 

"Even th' Almighty," said the angels, 
"May be proud of such chef-d'oeuvre. 
Such magnificent and crowning 
Issue of a six days' labor. 

"But we 're curious to know whether 
He 's as good inside as outside, 
As substantial and enduring 
As he 's fair to see, and specious." 

H6re a deep sigh rent God's bosom, 
And a shade came o'er God's features: — 
"Ah," he cried, "were ye but honest, 
And no traitor stood amongst ye ! 


"Then indeed this were a gredt work, 
Then indeed I were too happy; 
Ah ! it 's too bad, downright too bad, 
But I '11 — shall I? yes, I '11 let you; 

"Let you disappoint and frc't me, 
Let you disconcert my whole plan — 
Why, of all my virtues, should I 
Leave unpractised only patience? 

■'There he is, my noblest, best work; 
Take him, do your pleasure with him; 
After all, perhaps I '11 find some 
Means to patcli my broken saucer. 

"Now begone! don't let me see you 
Here again, till I send for you; 
I 'm tired Avorking, and intend to 
Rest my weary bones tomorrow." 

So God Uy late on the n^xt day. 
And, the whole day long, did nothing 
But reflect upon his ill luck 
And the gr6at spite of the angels; 

And God said: - "Because 1 've rested 
All this s^.venth day, dnd done nothing, 
i^jach seventh day shall be kept holy 
And a day of rest, for ever." 

And as God said and commanded. 

So it is now, and still shall be: 

All hard w6rk done 6u each seventh da}-, 

To each first day all respect shown. 

Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Irei^vnd), Jan. 21, 1855. 





jN6w I '11 tell you — story second — 
H6w God made his noblest, b^st work — 
Made the man and made the woman, 
With the strong, round, tail -less buttocks. 

God took dust — about three bushels 
Very fine dust, without mixture 
Of quartz rubbish, grit or pebble — 
Wet, and kneaded it, with water. 

— Nay, nay; 1 don't mean such water 
As Jove, Mercury and Neptune 
Wet the cow's hide with, when dll three 
Set about to make Orion — 

With rain water God the diist mixed, 
Kneaded, moulded into figure. 
Till head, face and trunk and four limbs 
Wore his own most perfect likeness. 

Th^n in through its nose God bl^w till 
All its lungs were full of G6d's breath, 
And its heart went pft-pat, pft-pat, 
And it st6od up, on its tw6 legs, i 


And, about it, looked, and wondered, 
And a hop step and three jumps took, 
Chattered like a daw or magpie, 
Like a kitten, playful capered. 

Now there was in Eden, eastward, 
Planted by God's self, a garden ; 
There, it was, God put his image, 
Bade him live in it, dress and keep it: 

Not because he was a gardener. 
Or knew anything of gardening,. 
Nor because the garden needed 
To be dressed or taken care of; 

For the ground had not been cursed yet, 
And produced no thorns nor thistles: 
Every thing went of itself right; 
All was good and in perfection; 

But he put him there to tempt, and 
Try if he could catch him napping. 
Laid a regular trap for him — 
Sure ^enough, he fell plump into it. 

Now you '11 say that God was cunning, 
When I tell you how he did it: 
' — Like as t6 himself he mdde Man, 
H6 didn't mdke Man half so cunning — 

In the middle of the garden. 
Full in the man's sight he set a 
Tree with goodly apples laden. 
Fair to see, and fragrant smelling, 

Th^n said to the man : — "Thou shdlt not, 
Fair although they be, and fragrant, 
Eat or touch one single apple — 
Upon pain of death, thou sh-Alt not. 


"Eat thou mayst of all the other 
Apples in the garden growing, 
But of this tree if thou touchest 
Even one apple, thou 'rt a dead man." 

So C4od said, and brought a deep, sound 
Sleep on Adam, his beloved son; 
Then, while he was sleeping, came and 
Opened one, no matter which, side; 

Cautious opened, and took out a 
Rib too many he had given him ; 
Then the wound, as cautious, healed up, 
Adam never once perceiving. 

In the rib God flesh and bone had. 
Ready to his hand provided. 
So it took but little trouble 
To make out of it a new man. 

Twin to twin was never liker. 
Than the new man God made of it, 
And to Adam gave, to be his 
Loving helpmate. Eve, first woman. 

So far, so good; if the man 's stiff. 
Of himself won't touch the apple. 
Woman 's curious, and will likely 
Nibble, and persuade her husband. 

Pretty sure, now; but to make still 
Surer, safer, God a serpent 
Put into the garden with them, 
Full of subtilty and malice, 

And, because the serpent c6uld not, 
Without knowledge of their language, 
Use his forked tongue to beguile them. 
How to speak their language, taught him, 


"What tlieir language was, I know not; 
Hebrew, Sanscrit or Clialdean — 
Some say it was Paradisiac; 
Celtic, some; some, Abyssinian — 

But the serpent knew, and thiis said 
To the woman in her language : 
"It 's a very pretty^ story 
God has told you and your husband, 

"That ye shall die in the day ye 
Taste, or touch, one of these apples. 
Pshaw! don't mind him; he 'd fain k<^ep all 
Wisdom to himself, and knowledge. 

"What for Ave they, but for eating? 
Who 's to eat, but you and Adam ? 
Put your hdnd forth, pluck and ^at one, 
And be wise as he, and knowing." 

What should Eve do, silly woman. 
Who knew neither good nor evil. 
Could not tell what either meant till 
Sh^ had first the apple tasted? 

And the serpent was so pretty. 
And so sweetly spoke her language, 
And was one of God's own creatures, 
In God's garden, sporting, with her; 

And the apple, on the brfinch, there, 
Pluiig so ripe and round and mellow. 
And the tree was by God's 6wn hand 
Planted, and made grow so n^ar her; 

And she had never even so miich as 
Dreamt that God, a jealous God was — 
A designing, jealous God was. 
Who would lay a trap to catch her; 

Wh6 would Min down fire and brimstone 

On her gr^at- great -groat -grandchildren; 

Who would slay, in one night, all the ♦ 

First-born in the land of Egypt; 

Who would cut off every soul in 
Canaan and the plains of Jordan; 
Who would n6t spare even his own heir, 
Or the bitter cup pass from him. 

So she stretched — she stretched her hand out, 
Plucked and eat, and gave to Adam, 
Who, as God from the beginning 
Well had guessed, eat at her bidding. 

Then, at last, their eyes were opened, 

— All too late and to no purpose — 
And they knew what they had d6ne was 
Evil, and would be their ruin. 

And they said, one to the other, 
Knowing now both good and evil: — 
"Well! it surely was a foul trick; 
Who 'd have thought God would have done it 

"H6 is not the God we thought him. 
But a cruel, wicked, bad God; 
Come, make haste and in the thicket 
Let us hide us from his anger." 

Ah ! they little knew the God from 

Whom they thought to hide their faces; 

H^ was in the garden spying, 

— Taking, as he said, a cool walk — | 

Saw them pluck and eat the apple. 
Saw the whole thing, how it happened, 
Then, as if he had seen nothing. 
Looking simple, called them to him. 


And, what they had been doing, asked them. 
When he heard, Lord! if you 'd seen him, 
How he cursed and swore and threatened, 
How he vowed he W have their tw6 lives, 

Damned the woman, and the man damned, 
Damned the serpent worse than either, 
Cursed the very ground they stood on. 
The poor ground that hdd done nothing: 

Thorns, it should bring forth, and thistles; 
In his sweat, the man should till it: 
Pain and sorrow should attend the 
Hapless woman in child-bearing. 

Th^n God drove both man and woman 
Out before him, and a guard of 
Cherubim in Eden, eastward, 
With a flaming, fiery sword placed. 

High and low, on every side round, 
Day and night, the fiery sword fiamed — 
Shut them out, for ever shut them 
Out of Eden's happy garden. 

And the two went forth to wander 
And spread, far and wide, the story, 
And behind them in the garden 
Left the serpent cozy nestled. 

Walking from Rosamond to Glenageauy, May 5, 1859. 





OTORY third is but a short one : 
Cain was Abel's elder brother; 
Children they were both of* Adam, 
Eve, of both the boys, was mother. 

Bad boys both were; God had taken 
(Tood care they should not be good ones, 
For he had cursed both their parents. 
Cursed the very ground they stood on. 

These two bad boys brought God offerings, 

- Fondest, still, to bring God offerings, 
Are the worst boys, and most pains take 
Always to keep God on their side — 

Of the ground's fruit Cain brought offerings; 
Firstlings of the flock, brought Abel; 
God a lover Avas of lamb's flesh. 
Didn't care much for ears of gr^en corn. 

So God showed respect to Abel, 
Said he liked his roast lamb vastly. 
And his back turned on the green ears, 
Bid Cain give them to the cattle. 

Cain grew wroth — was it a wonder? — 
Wroth with God and wroth with Abel, 
And the countenance of Cain fell. 
And he slew his brother Abel. 

And God asked Cain where was Abel, 
Just as if God did not know well, 
\nd Cain answered: — '^Go and seek him; 
Am I then my brother's keeper?" 

Then God said: — - "I 've heard the voice of 
Abel's blood up from the ground cry. 
Thou hast slain him. I expected 
Better from thy parents' son, Cain. 

'^What use now in all the paius 1 
Took to teach them to distinguish 
Good from evil, that they might know 
How to rear up virtuous children? 

"Some excuse there was for them, if, 
In their ignorance, they offended; 
But there 's none at all for th(3e, Cain : 
With eyes open thou hast done this. 

"So thou 'rt damned: begone for ever! 
Out before my face I hunt thee : 
And upon thee set my mark, that 
Every man may know and sliiin thee. 

"Sevenfold vengeance 1 will take on 
Him that lays on Cain a linger. 
Out! begone!" and God drove Cain forth, 
Outlawed, with the mark upon him. 

Now there was not, in the whole world, 
Other man than Cain and Adam; 
Other woman, in the whole world, 
There was not than Eve, his mother; 

So the mark didn't do Cain much harm, 
And he went into the land of 
Nod, and married, or, as some say. 
Into Nod's land took his wife with him. 


Who his wife was, I don't well know, 
But suspect she was an angel 
Of an angel Cain had need, if 
Ever man had need of angel; 

But in Nod's land Cain a son had, 

And in Nod's land built a city, 

Enoch — so called from his son's name — 

Tmust have been but a small city, 

For, to build it, Cain had biit his 
Own two bare hands and his wife's two 
And his little son's — with the mdrk on him, 
Who, do you think, besides, would help him, 

Even if Nod's land had been peopled, 
Which it was not? so Cain's city 
Was as big as Cain could build it 
With his wife's help and his little son's; 

Not so big, be sure, as Rome was 
Built upon the banks of Tiber 
By another and a worse Cain, 
Whom God never dreamt of outlawing, 

But to heaven took, and rewarded 
With a crown of life and glory, 
And his city made to flourish, 
And reign mistress of the wide world. 

Like a knotless thread, my story 
Here drops from between my fingers, 
For what more Cain in the land of 
Nod did, or elsewhere, 's not written. 

RogAMOND, May 7, 1859. 





Who hasn't heard talk of the deluge 
Happened in the time of Noah, 
When the whole earth was so flooded 
Even a rice crop could not grow in it, 

And the river fishes perished, 
Poisoned by the salt sea -water, 
And the fishes, in the salt sea, 
Could not live, so great the freshes; 

And the valleys into lakes turned, 
And the mountain tops, to islands, 
Islands first, and then, at last, the 
Very mountain tops were covered; 

And all things that on the earth lived, 
All were drowned, both big and little — 
Man and woman, bird and beast and 
Grub and butterfly and beetle; 

For God said: — "These men and women 
Haven't turned out as I expected; 
I will drown the wicked sinners — 
I 'm so sorry that I mdde them! 

81 ft 

"Pity, the poor birds and beasts, which 
Never sinned, are so mixed with them 
I must drown them all together; 
Pooh! no matter; I can mdke more. 

"Better, I 'd not made the birds and 
Beasts and creeping things and fishes, 
Till I 'd seen how Man w^ould turn out; 
'Twas a bungle to make him last. 

"But it 's done now; there 's no help for it; 
All must drown, and I must make more, 
Else the new world will be no use — 
That 's no small job; let me think of it. 

"Stay — I have it now, I have it; 
All shall not drown, not even all men; 
I will keep enough to breed more, 
Save me all the trouble of making. 

"i will keep for seed, of every 
Clean soul, seven, unclean, one couple; 
Even of Man himself I '11 keep four 
Couple, if I cAn find four good." 

So God looked about until he 
Hit on Noah and his three sons : — 
"Th^se, with their four wives, will do," said 
God, and called them dnd said td them: — 

"I am going to drown the whole world, 
So make haste and build an ark of 
Gopher wood to save yourselves, in. 
And the animals I '11 for seed keep. 

"Pitch it well - 'twill be a great flood — 
L^t there be enough of room in it; 
Put a door in it, to go in by, 
And a window to let light in. 


"Take, of every clean beast, s^.ven pair, 
And one pdir of every unclean, 
And get in, and don't forget you '11 
Need a good store of provisions." 

So the Noahs did as God bid; 
Built the ark, and went int6 it 
With provisions, and the clean pairs 
And unclean pairs of all creatures. 

In one long day — 'tmust have been a 
Very long day — all got sdfe in, 
And God came and turned the latch-key 
And got up the rainy weather. 

In seven days the world was drowning, 
And all things, that had life, in it; 
In seven days the ark was floating. 
With its burthen, on the waters; 

Such a burthen as had sunk a 

Gr^at East-Indiaman or frigate, 

HM such ships been built in those days, 

Or had Noah known how to build one. 

Scarce had fifty such Armadas 
As Spain sent to conquer England, 
Held the cargo Noah's ark held. 
Not to talk of floating with it. 

Lions, tigers, bears, and jackals, 
6rang-6utangs, there were in it, 
Marikinas, lotongs, kahaus, 
Sloths, giraffes, and armadillos. 

Wolverines and striped hyaenas, 
Fenneks, foxes, wolves, and coatis, 
Skunks, racoons, and dasyuri, 
Porcupines with all their quills on, 

83 6* 

Dogs and cats and bats and peacocks, 
Lemur- cattas and galagos, 
Cassowaries, dromedaries, 
Zebras, antelopes and ^meus, 

Civets, otters, badgers, polecats. 
Pangolins, ornitborhynchi. 
Guinea-pigs and humming-birds and 
Stoats and martens and ichneumons: 

Fourmilions and great ant-eaters. 
And, of course, the ants to feed them. 
Not to speak of ants for breeders. 
And straw chips and clay, for ant-hills; 

Beavers too, and, for the beavers, 

New felled trees to make their dams of; 

Water there would be in plenty 

Without bringing — so they brought none; 

Neither brought for beaver dams, nor 
Brought for washing; good enough for 
Either purpose the flood water, 
Though it might be salt and muddy; 

But, as thdt wouldn't do for drinking, 
Noah built vats, broad and deep as 
Guinness's great porter vat, or 
Heidelberg's far -famous wine tun. 

And outside the ark suspended. 
Fore and aft, to catch the rain in, 
And one vat he set apart for 
Crocodiles and alligators. 

And, outside the ark, to leeward 
Hung, and balanced with another 
Hung to windward for guillem6ts and 
Auks and cormorants to dive in ; 


And, for fear they might get out and 
In the flood be lost, he covered 
Both the leeward vat and windward 
With a strong net, and made dll tight; 

And by g(5od luck, at the moment. 
Finding a large lump of r6ck salt. 
Threw as much, into the auks' vat. 
As would make the water brackish. 

Now the elephants were heavy, 
Could not easily go up stairs, 
So he put them in the middle 
Of the ffrst floor, on an extra 

Thick and solid gopher planking, 
And the hippopotamuses, 
Tapirs and rhinoceroses. 
On the planking put beside them ; 

Not because that was the b^st place 
F6r beasts needing so much water, 
But because such heavy ballast 
Could not safely be stowed Elsewhere; 

And, to make amends, — your Noah, 
After all, was d good, kind soul — 
Gave them douches with the bilge -pump, 
Night and morning, when he hdd time. 

But it wasn't enough to make the 
Ground floor of his building heavy, 
H^ must keep the top floor light, if 
H^ would have his building steady; 

So he put upon the t6p floor 
Nothing but his lightest luggage, 
And between the first two storeys 
All his heaAy bulk divided : 


And so cleverly disposed all, 
That if God had taken the ark, and 
Pitched it from him topsy-turvy, 
'Twould have righted, of its own self. 

And stood upright on its bottom; 
As you have seen a plaything fairy, 
Wh^n you have s4t it on its pith end. 
Turn, and stdnd-up on its 16ad end. 

So, upon the top floor, Noah 
Put the flies and gnats and sphinxes. 
Crickets, grasshoppers, cockroaches, 
Glow-worms, aphides, and earwigs; 

Stuck the spiders in the corners; 
In the chinks, the bugs and woodlice; 
Had a dunghill for the beetles. 
For the cochineal, a cactus; 

At the one end of the sdme floor. 
Set up perches for the turkeys 
And the guinea-fowl and p6a-fowl 
And the cocks and hens and chickens; 

At the other end, a dove-cot 
And a pigeon -house and swan -house, 
And a pheasantry, and ydrd for 
Grouse and guans and curassows. 

No bird-fancier was Noah, 
Scarcely even had ear for music; 
Pity, for bird-fancier never 
M6re choice had, or greater plenty: 

Blackbirds, thrushes, robin -redbreasts. 
Siskins, black -caps, and canaries, 
Skylarks, titlarks, meadow -pipits. 
Wrens and nightingales and warblers, 


And the bullfinch and the linnet, 
And the mocking - bird and hoopoe, 
And the redwing and ring -ouzel, 
Stare and oriole and cuckoo; 

But he liked as well the screaming 
Of the parrakeets and parrots, 
And as lief would listen t6 the 
Raven's croak or magpie's chatter; 

So he put them all together. 
Screamers, whistlers, singers, talkers, 
In a cage that filled the whole length. 
And the whole height, of one side -wall; 

And, upon the opposite side -wall. 
In as tall and wide a cage, stowed 
Vultures, eagles, albatrosses. 
Kites and sparrow-hawks and buzzards, 

Gypaetes and lammergeiers, 
Djous, flyseekers and flycatchers, 
Palikours and platyrhynchi. 
Owls, shrikes, vangas, and edolii, 

And — for Noah better loved peace 
Than your Victors and Napoleons — 
Chained the strong ones to their perches, 
Fenced the weak ones round with wicker- 
In Sans Souci Palace garden. 
Or Versailles or Hampton Court, thou hast 
Seen, no doubt, set in the ground, a 
Broad and shallow marble basin 

Full of muddy, fetid water. 
With gold-fishes swimming in it, 
Or a pair of swans upon it, 
And sea Triton in the middle. 


Tlir^e snch broad and shallow basins, 
Tanks, say rather, for he neither 
Marble had nor Triton, Noah 
Built of seasoned gopher-wood, and 

In- and out -side pitched and sanded, 
And set in the floor, and threw in 
Mud and gravel for a bottom, 
And filled to the brim with water, 

And with trees, in tubs and barrels. 
Garnished round so thick as barely 
T6 leave room to pass between his 
Winter - garden and his cages. 

In the first tank, on their long shanks, 
Gaunt and solemn, stalked the herons, 
Spoonbills, bitterns, demoiselle cranes, 
And the stork went clitter - clatter ; 

And the red flamingo gobbled 

Frogs and toads up, by the dozen, 

Frogs and toads brought for the purpose — 

In the next tank were the breeders: 

Green frogs, red frogs, brown frogs, bull frogs, 
Shad frogs, bell frogs, palmipede frogs, 
Grunters, whistlers, jakies, giants, 
Thick -armed, thin -armed, paradox frogs. 

Such a quacking, such a croaking, 
Such a li()fiifyB^ xowl xw^, 
You 'd have guessed a flood was coming, 
Even if God hadn't said a w(5rd of it. 

Leeches, too, were in the fr6g tank, 
Axolotls and hellbenders, 
Piping toads and toads that c<5uldn't pipe, 
Marbled newts, and salamanders. 


Round about and in and 6ut, frisked 
Sepses, skinks, Egyptian geckos, 
Tupinambis, and guanas 
Both the horned ones and the hornless. 

In the third tank ducks and geese swam, 
And the tame swan and the wild swan, 
And the black swan with the r^d bill, 
And the white swan with the black head; 

And the gannet, gull, and dobchick, 
And the great, black - bellied darter. 
And the water-rail and bdld-coot, 
And New Holland's cereopsis. 

There they swam, but how to feed them 
Noah knew no more than y6ii do, 
So he told his wife to mind them ; 
She had been used, at home, to poultry; 

Happy for them ! for she brought them. 
Once a day, all sorts of garbage — 
Crumbs and crusts and mashed potatoes ; 
How they gabbled, how they crowded 

To the tank's edge, when they saw her, 
With her wooden bowl full, coming. 
Followed by the hens and chickens. 
And her Sanscrit "chuck, chuck, chiick," heard! 

From her loving, loyal subjects, 
Never queen had greater honor, 
Thau, from water- fowl and Idnd-fowl, 
Noah's wife, so long as in her 

Wooden bowl there was one gobbet; 
Thinner levy had dethroned queen 
Never, than the wife of Noah 
When her wooden bowl was empty. 


In the tubs that round the tanks stood, 
Rat and mouse and dormouse burrowed, 
And the tandrek and the tendrak 
And the porcupine and hedgehog, 

And the urson and cudndo 

And the campagnol and lemming 

And the badger and the otter 

And the field - mouse, shrew, and rabbit, 

And the hamster and the fitchet 

And the sable and pine -marten 

And the weasel and the ferret; 

And sir Mole made his encampment. 

Up and down the trees ran squirrels, 

Guerlinguets and pteromyses. 

Or cracked nuts, upon the branches, 

Or from branch to branch leaped nimble. 

And chameleons, wiser far than 

Ovid and his fellows thought them, 

Gr^w fat, not on empty air, but 

Flies and gnats caught on their glib tongues. 

Eound about the hollow trunks, buzzed 

Honey bees of every species, 

6r sipped nectar from the florets. 

Or, in swarms, hung from the branches; 

For, not being an adept, Noah 
Had brought, by mistake, the qu^en bees, 
And the whole communities followed, 
Drones and laborers and neuters. 

But if Noah had more b^es than 
H6 had hollow trunks to hold them, 
A superabundant stock of 
Wax and honey, was a godsend; 


For, as there was but one window 
And one door, for air and light both, 
And the ark had thr^e great storeys, 
You could hardly see your hand in it. 

Till the wives of Noah's thr^e sons, 
Who knew something about chandling, 
Thought of making great wax candles, 
Such as you see now in churches, 

And lit up the ark as well as 
Tiers of windows would have lit it; 
Ay and better, for outside was 
Little light, or none, to c(5me in, 

Though it hdd been made of glass all. 
Roof and walls, like Sydenham Palace, 
Not of solid gopher wood, lined, 
In- and out -side, with asphaltum; 

And the honey was a b(5nne - bouche, 
Not alone for all the Noahs, 
But for all the honey -guides, and 
Bears, wasps, hornets and gorillas; 

And, even in the ark, was true: ''Non 
Vobis vos melliiicatis" — 
Ah! the bee's fate is a sM one; 
Isn't it, honey -loving reader? 

On the topmost boughs the herons, 

Cranes and storks built, and their young hatched; 

Here and there, among the branches, 

Tap, tap, tap went the wood -packer. 

Not a leaf but was aHve with 
Aphides and hemerobii. 
Milking ants, curculionites, 
Kermes, coccinel, or coccus ; 


Or with shell -snails imbricated, 

Or hung with epeira meshes, 

Or, with moth capes and moth mantles, 

Littered like a draper's counter; 

Or the fly -ichneumon, boring 
With her long and slender auger. 
Laid her cuckoo -egg within the 
Cynips' and tenthredo's castle. 

Maggots crackled, crawled, and tumbled ; 
Eggs were strown- about like fine sand. 
Or lay heaped, like grapes, in clusters, 
Or in rows strung like neckldces; 

And to have gathered up the pupas 
And cocoons, from leaf and branch and 
From the earth about the trees' roots. 
Would have kept a gardener busy 

IJntil winter, though it had b^en but 
To throw all into a heap and 
Make a merry bonfire 6f them, 
Or with lime mix for a compost; 

Not that Noah hadn't a fine taste, 
Or, though never sworn at Highgate, 
Didn't prefer, when he could get it, 
The imago to the pupa; 

But, as even your handiest tailor 
Must, according to his cloth, cut 
Coat or mantle, so your Noah 
Must his ark, not as he liked best, 

But, as best he could, fill iip, and 
Entomologist enough was 
Not to go imago - hunting, 
In the egg or pupa season. 



To be sure, he had his fly -nets, 
And caught butterflies and locusts, 
Fire -flies, gad-flies, horse-flies, boat-flies, 
And the great lucanus cervus, 

And all sorts of tilli, grylli, 

Tettigoniae and cicadae, 

And — which sure he might have let lie — 

Tineae, blattae, and mosquitoes. 

Sphexes, too, he had collected, 
Rembi, syrphi, uleiotae, 
Lovely thaides and roxanas. 
And some bombyces and bombi, 

And — hard pressed for room as ever 
Druggist, in his shop, or grocer — 
Hung all up in paper bags, with 
Cord and pulley, to the rafters, 

And threw -in the rice and meal worms, 
And the sugar louse, and weevil, 
And the book worm, and the paste worm, 
And the death-watch, tick, and cheese mite. 

Leave them there, and come with me now, 
Downstairs, to the middle storey — 
Isn't it bedlam? Such a chatter, 
Such a moping, such a mowing, 

Such a jigging, jerking, jumping, 
Capering, frisking, caracoling, 
Swinging, flinging, pirouetting, 
Climbing up, and climbing down, bars; 

Such a whistling, such a whining, 
Such a jabbering, japing, crying, 
Such a yelping, such a yelling. 
Such a carnival and mdy-fair, 


Of baboons and chimpanzees and 
Orang-outangs and gorillas, 
Micos, patases, and mandrils, 
Tamaries and coaitas, 

Preaching monkeys, howling monkeys. 
Weeping monkeys, and entelli, 
Grivets, vervets and green monkeys, 
Satans, belzebubs, and gibbons, 

Capuchins and talapoins, 
Sais and sajous and guerezas. 
Caged with thos-dogs, jackals, foxes, 
Dholes and dingos and lycdons. 

And the proteles Lalandii, 

And the taraffe and impompo, 

And the tulki and the tilki, 

And the koola of the jungle; 

Lemurs, too, and lichanoti, 
Makis, varis and macaucos, 
Kangaroos and potooroos, and 
Lemmings, campagnols and wombats. 

And, from time to time, the lion 
Frightened with his roar the whole ark, 
And the ass brayed, and the h6rse neighed, 
And the wolf howled, and the dog barked; 

And the tiger, in his beauty. 
Up and down paced, never resting; 
Never resting, up and down paced 
Ounce and ocelot and puma; 

And the leopard, and the panther, 

And the jaguar, lynx and cougar. 

If you had seen them, how they ramped and 

Crouched, by turns, and glared and bristled! 


And, not yet to go erect taught, 
Brown bears, grisly bears and bruangs 
Shuffled awkward upon all -fours, 
And looked out for Japhet coming 

With full calabash of honey, 
Mangosteens, or ripe sorb apples. 
And turned up their snouts at white bears 
Gorging upon kreng and stock - fish ; 

And the hateful , fell hyaena, 

Skulking in his den's dark corner. 

Gnawed a thigh-bone, he had brought with him, 

Of a drowned antediluvian. 

In with me now through this wicket, 
Lift the latch, and stoop your h^ad low; 
Nothing fear, you 're safe in Noah's 
Spacious deer-park, sty, and cowhouse. 

That 's the lordly bison, chewing 
Nonchalant his morning's breakfast; 
That 's the plough ox; that 's the musk ox; 
That 's the buffalo, tethered n^xt you. 

Next beyond, you see the milch cows 
W^ 're too late, quite, for the milking; 
Noah's sons' wives — clever housewives — 
Milk and strain and set, ere sunrise. 

What do you say to yon score bullocks, 

— Long horns, ten, and ten are short horns — 

Noah 's fattening -up on wurzel, 

For menagerie and house use? 

Now come here, I '11 show you something: 
There 's a sheep -pen you '11 scarce match me, 
Fifty ammons, mouflons fifty, 
Short- and long -tailed, all for eating; 


Fifty ammons more for avooI, and 
Fifty mouflons more for sheep -robe, 
For, you know, the flood will leave but 
Small provision for the winter, 

And a prudent man, like Noah, 
Must lay -in both food and clothing, 
To supply him, not alone while 
In the ai-k, but when he has got out; 

For, just think in what a state he '11 
Find the whole world when he gets out; 
Dripping, dropping, slime and silt, all, 
Not a dry spot to set foot on; 

Not a braird of corn or grass, left, 
Not a hedge or ridge or furrow, 
Not a roof his head to shelter, 
Every hole choke-full of water; 

Not one grain, one seed, one berry. 
Not one onion or potato, 
Even the eels killed in the miid by 
The salt water from the great deep; 

Even the herrings of the great deep 
Stifled by the river freshes. 
Or if one, by chance, alive left, 
Not a living soul to catch it. 

So, not for himself alone, but 
All his fellow - sailors, Noah 
Must provide, both on the voyage 
And for many a long month after, 

And, besides his couples clean and 
Couples iinclean, carry with him 
Sheep and swine and goats, by fifties, 
Hay by ricks, and corn by edit -loads. 


Stop your nose now, and make haste past 
Pigs and peccaries and cavies, 
Phacochoeri, babyroussae, 
Taytetous and tagnicatis; 

And take care you don't your foot miss 
In the slough of mast and offal; 
And keep off from that tusked boar, if 
You would not be an Adonis. 

Well done! dll right! There 's the moose-deer, 
And the fallow deer and roebuck, 
And the red deer, and the reindeer, 
And the wapeti and axis, 

And the soft, full eyed gazelle, and 
Bubalis and cervicapra. 
And the kevel and the koba, 
Dorcas, whang-yang, and pygarga, 

And the chamois and the springbock, 
And the nylghau, gnu and caama. 
And the philosophic goat, and 
Capricorn not yet translated, 

And the zebra, and the quagga, 
And the dshikketaei and koulan, 
And the llama and vicunna. 
And the one- and two-hunched camel. 

And see where, his kameel-doorn leaves 
All consumed, the tall gir^iffc stands ; 
Watch him close, you '11 see the cud go 
Slowly up and down his long neck. 

What 's the matter? why so frightened? 
Let them hiss there, they can't harm you; 
Noah has secured them all well 
In a bulk-head of his first floor; 

97 7 

Look down at them through the trap-door, 
How they 're twisting, twining, coiling, 
Writhing, glaring, darting, rattling, 
Spirting venom with their forked tongues, 

Adders, aspics, amphisbaenas, 
Rattle-snakes and horned cerastes, 
Dun snakes, smooth snakes, Bordelais snakes. 
Vipers green and vipers yellow, 

Anacondas, pythons, boas, 

Pseudoboas and megaeras, 

And, even by his fellow sndkes feared. 

Shunned and hated, Eden's cursed snake. 

Oomc away quick; shut the door down; 
Leave them there, to sin and Satan — 
Stay, there 's something creeping on you; 
Brush it off; it 's but a chigoe, 

That, by some chance has got out of 
Noah's fl^a-box and louse-casket. 
And, bad company eschewing, 
Sets out, solus, on its travels; 

That 's the box, the nearest to you 
On the shelf there. In the next box 
Are the centipedes and scorpions; 
I 'd advise you not go near it; 

Nor the next one, full of coyas, 
Furias, guinea-worms and itch-worms; 
And, if you are wise, you '11 let the 
Vampyres hang, where they are hanging, 

By their two hooks, from the purlin; 
They '11 be busy when the night comes; 
It 's not bad economy in 
Noah, not to keep them caged up. 


Now the show 's clone, what do you thmk of it? 

Was there ever such another, 

Since the first great cattle - show and 

Naming- fair in happy Eden? 

I suppose I need not take you 
To the granary, on the first floor, 
Or the hay -barn, or the dairy. 
Or the vegetable garden, 

Or the fruit-shop, or the larder, 

Or the pantry, or the kitchen, 

Or the ladies' drawing-room, or , 

Noah's own room and check - office. 

And bedchamber; 't might be tedious, 

And we 're both tired, and we wouldn't like 

To be treated as intruders, 

So we may as well be going — 

"But the fishes, where are they all. 
And the oysters, crabs, and lobsters, 
And sea-urchins and sea-nettles, 
And infusories and polyps, 

''Which could not, you just now told me, 
Live in the flood's brackish waters. 
Are they all drowned? or are these, too, 
Saved in clean and unclean couples?" 

All forgot, and every one drowned. 
Clean and unclean, fish and polyp, 
Crabs, infusories, and lobsters, 
Urchins, oysters, and sea-nettles; 

Every one asphyxiated 
In the muddy, brackish waters, 
And must, every one, be new made. 
Or the world jog on without them. 

99 7 * 

'And the tape- worm, and the maw- worm. 
And the ascaris and fluke and" — 
Why, safe, to be sure, in Noah's 
And his fellow - sailors' bowels. 

No more questions, if you 'd not have 
Fibs for answers — come away, come. 
Pleasant voyage to you all, boys. 
And may God send safe the good ship! 

Rosamond, Rathgar Road, Dublin, Sept. 21, 1859. 



Tower so high, there never yet was 
As the famous tower of Babel — 
I '11 not say how many yards high, 
As I never chanced to see it; 

But God saw it, and came down from 
Heaven to take a close view of it. 
And didn't like it, and determined 
Babel tower should not be finished. 

i do not know whether God thought 
Men might up to heaven climb by it, 
Or didn't think it could be safely 
Built with slime instead of mortar; 

Or perhaps God did not like the 
Babylonish style of building; 
Or perhaps it was for mere spite — 
Likelier cause than any other. 


But that 's dll one; God didn't like it, 
And at once saw there was n6 plan 
Half so sure to put a stop to it, 
As a strike among* the workmen. 

How to manage? Stay, he hds it; 
Makes each one forget his language, 
Teaches each a different udme for 
Brick and slime and hod and trowel. 

Scholars apt, a clever teacher — 
Whdt may not be learned in such case? 
Chitter - chatter go the masons, 
And stand staring at each other; 

Staring stand, and gape and wonder, 
Th^n fall -to, again, a- chattering, 
Th6n throw down their hods and trowels, 
And start off, each at a tangent, 

Leaving the contractor ruined, 
^ Leaving Babel tower unfinished, 
A memorial of the first strike. 
And a warning to the whole world, 

Not to take in hand again to 
Build a tower so high as Babel, 
Till they hdve made polyglots of 
Th^ contractor and the masons. 

Walking from Rosamond to Kilmashoguk Mountain, May, 1859. 





Part First. 

Did you ever hear of Abraliam, 
How lie went down into Egypt 
Witli his oxen, sheep, and camels, 
When the famine was in Moreh? 

How he had a pretty wife too, 
Whom he could not but bring with him, 
Though he knew the Egyptians were as 
Fond, as he, of pretty women? 

So he said to her: — "Wife Sarah, 
Have a care of these Egyptians; 
Go to ! say you are my sister ; 
If you don't, I dm a dead man; 

"For they 're fond of pretty women, 
And you know you 're pretty, Sarah; 
So they '11 kill me, to get dt you, 
if they hear I am your husband. 

"To be sure, it is not qufte true, 
But I know God will forgive you 
For the lie, both, and adultery. 
Knowing they are both for my sake." 

"Abraham's will is Sarah's pleasure," 
Answered Sarah, simpering sweetly; 
"As for God, who knows him better 
Than the father of the faithful?" 


S6 said, so done. Sarah's beauty 
Smote the Egyptians, dnd, before long, 
Abraham's sister was installed in 
The seraglio of the Pharaohs; 

And the Pharaohs for her sake made 
Presents to her brother Abraham; 
And well treated for her sake was 
Abraham in the land of Egypt. 

All was right now, and the cheat was 
Prospering well, when it pleased God to 
Plague — no, not the cheating parties. 
But — the cheated house of Pharaoh. 

Which, when Pharaoh was quite sure of 
— For, at first, he couldn't believe it: 
Wds not Abraham's God a just God? 
And could Abraham lie, or Sarah? — 

He grew wroth and said to Abraham: — 
"What is this thou hast done to me? 
For thy wife's sake I am plagued thus. 
Why said'st thou she was thy sister? 

"T6 my wife, I might have taken her, 
And this foul, foul crime committed — 
Out; begone; thy wife take with thee; 
L^t me see the last of both of ye." 

Then the servants drove them out, both. 

And they went up out of Egypt 

Into Canaan, and in Gerar 

Played the same trick on Abimelech. 

And God plagued Abimelech likewise. 
Plagued his wife and plagued his handmaids, 
Closed their wombs and made them barren, 
All for Sarah, Abraham's wife's sake. 


And Abimelech said to Abraham : — 
"What lie 's this which thou hast told me? 
Get thee gone, and somewhere else dwell ; 
See, my land is all before thee. 

"Take thy wife, and take the thousand 
Silver pieces I have given thee, 
And the men- and women - servants, 
And the sheep take, and the oxen, 

"And begone, and to thy God pray 
That he plague no more Abimelech, 
Who, until this cheat, as little 
Knew of him as of his prophet." 

Abraham did as he was bidden, 
Took his wife, the sheep, the oxen, 
And the men- and women - servants. 
And the thousand silver pieces. 

And away went, and to God prayed 
Not to plague Abimelech longer; 
And God hearkened to his prophet. 
And the plague stayed, and Abimelech's 

Wife's and handmaids' wombs were opened, 
And they bare Abimelech children, 
And the fear of Abraham's God came 
On Abimelech and his nation. 

So, with help of Sarah's beauty, 
Abraham, every day, grew richer; 
And God greatly prospered Abraham, 
And, in all he did, was with him. 

Rosamond, April 18, 1859. 



Part Second. 

(jHAPTER first you Ve heard of Abraham, 
How he passed his wife on Pharaoh 
For his sister, and, with God's help, 
Came, a rich man, out of Egypt. 

Now, if you would like to hear more 
Of the doings of the same pair 
When they were a hundred y^ars old, 
Listen to my second chapter. 

Fourscore years and ten, was Sarah, 
And, by nine years older, Abraham, 
Wh^ii God talked with Abraham, saying: 
"I am God Almighty, Abraham. 

"I have chosen thee to bless thee. 
And to make a gr^at man of thee ; 
Nations shall be born thy children ; 
Walk before me and be perfect. 

"In this land thou art a stranger, 
And hast no right to one foot of it : 
From the owners I will take it 
And to thee and thy seed give it. 

"I will be thy God, and thou shalt 
Be my prophet." "It 's a bargain," 
Answered Abraham, "and a good one; 
All it wants now 's to be w611 sealed." 

"I seal bargain!" cried God, angry; 
"Never! sealing is thy business; 
With thy foreskin thou shalt s^al it, 
Thou and every male among ye. 

"With your foreskins ye shall seal it. 
Every mdle soul in your wh61e house, 
Every male child, every male slave" 
(God approved of slaves in th6se days). 

"Cut off shall be, from among ye, 
Every mdle that shall not so seal, 
Freeborn, or slave bought with money. 
Child of slave or child of freeborn." 

So said God, and up to heaven went; 
And, that same day, circumcised were 
Abraham's self and Abraham's whole house. 
Young and old males, slave and freeborn. 

"Now I Ve done my part," said Abraham, 
"Let us see how God will do his; 
1 'm a good, round hundred years old. 
And wife Sarah 's not much younger. 

"Maybe, after all, what God meant. 
Was, to bless me in my bastard, 
Ishmael, the son of Hagar — 
Bastards, I 've heard say, are lucky." 

To himself while Abraham thus said, 

In the sun's heat, at his t^nt door, 

H<5 saw^ three men coming towards him, 

And rose up and ran to meet them. 


And said t6 them: — "Please sit down, sirs, 

Underneath this tree, and rest ye; 

Water for your feet I '11 fetch ye, 

And your hearts with bread will comfort." 

They were sweating, tired, and hungry; 
Dusty were their feet, and dirty; 
And there were no inns in those days; 
So you may suppose they sat down 

Well content, while Abraham brought them 
Water for their feet, and killed a 
Young and tender calf, and dressed it; 
Butter, too, and milk he brought them. 

And they eat and were refreshed, and 
Abraham stood by — lucky Abraham ! 
One of these three men was God, and 
Didn't forget to ask for Sarah; 

Who was in the t^nt door, listening. 
And began to titter wh^n she 
H^ard God say to Abraham : — "Let her 
Get her baby -linen ready." 

"What makes Sarah titter?" sdid God; 
"Is 't because I talked of babies? 
D6es she better know, than G6d knows, 
Whdt God can, and what God cdn't, do?" 

"f didn't titter; I!" said Sarah; 

"Nay, thou did'st," said God, "I heard thee; 

In the tent door, heard thee, tittering, 

At our backs, while we were talking." 

Sarah shouldn't have told this big lie, 
Shouldn't have contradicted God plump, 
Shouldn't have stood behind backs, listening. 
Might have known, she would be found out. 


Nay, don't tell me that 'twas Abraham, 
Abraham's self, had taught her lying; 
Or, that she couldn't know that G(5d was 
One of her three guests, or which one; 

Or, that God and angels listen 

— Still keep listening and eavesdropping - 

And, that very day, a s^t had 

Made on Abraham, both, and Sarah. 

I '11 not hear your vain excuses; 
Sarah listened, told a plump lie, 
To his beard God contradicted, 
And the only wonder is, God 

Dfd not curse her as, for less than 
Half of her offence, he cursed Eve, 
Or a few drops sprinkle 6n her 
Of the rain in store for Sodom. 

Why he did not 's no conundrum. 
Tedious to be puzzled over: 
Wasn't she Abraham's wife, and needed 
To be mother of the faithful? 

So God stomached th6 affront, and. 
When his lunch was finished, rose up, 
Bid good morning, and toward Sodom 
Went, accompanied by Abraham : — 

"This time next year, Abraham," said God, 
Side by side as th^y walked friendly, 
"Th6u shalt see which of the two 's right, 
Sarah or the God of Abraham. 

"I will bless and multiply thee, 
Make a mighty nation of thee; 
Not a kindred (5f the ^arth but 
Shall a blessing have in Abraham ; 


"For I know him, long and well, as 
My best friend and coadjutor; 
I '11 to him stick who to me sticks — 
Always one hand wash the other. 

"But your neighbours here, in Sodom, 
Root and branch I will destroy them 

— Hen and chicken, cut them all off — 
Sure as I am God Almighty ; 

"That 's to say, if, when I g6 down, 

— I 'm upon my way, this moment — 
1 find half the stories true I 

Hear of their abominations. 

"Fire and brimstone down upon them 
I '11 from heaven rain — what do you stdre at? 
We 've in heaven so much of both stuffs 
That it 's scarcely safe to sleep in it." 

Abraham wondered, but said nothing, 
And God went on to explain how 
In due time he meant to make a 
Separate place to keep such stuffs in. 

"Don't forget to tell thy nephew," 
Said God, when he had explained all; 
"Warned is armed, and let him make haste; 
Fire and brimstone do their work quick." 

"Lord," said Abraham, "peradventure 
In the city there are fifty 
Righteous men found, thou 'It not, surely, 
Slay the righteous with the guilty? 

"F^r be it from the Lord and God of 
All the earth, to do unjustly." 
"For the sake of fifty righteous," 
Answered God, "I '11 spare the city." 


"I 'm but sinful dust and ashes," 
Then said Abraham, "yet I 'm bold to 
Ask, if five lack of the fifty. 
Wilt thou then destroy the city?" 

"I will spare it for the sake of 
Five and forty righteous," sdid God. 
''If there be but barely forty?" 
"Even for forty's sake I '11 spare it." 

"Be not angry, Lord!" said Abraham; 
"If the righteous be but thirty?" 
"Even for thirty's sake," replied God, 
"I will not destroy the city." 

"Peradventure," then said Abraham, 
"Only twenty are the righteous?" 
"For the sake of twenty righteous," 
Answered God, "I '11 spare the city." 

"Once more bear with me," said Abraham; 
"If the righteous only ten be?" 
"If there be ten righteous in it," 
Said God, "1 wiir spare the city." 

I don't know why Abraham stopped here. 
And didn't keep still plucking hairs out 
Of the mare's tail till he had come to 
Five, and four, and three, and two, and 

None, at last, and so saved Sodom ; 
But, whatever was his reason, 
Abraham stopped at ten, and God went 
Into Sodom, and, not finding 

Ten men righteous, in the city. 
Rained down fire and brimstone on it. 
And upon Gomorrah, near it, 
And upon the plain of Jordan; 


Made a solfatara of it, 

And of all the country round it: 

Every living soul killed in it, 

Old and young, and male and female, 

Only, for the sake of Abraham, 
Saving four: Lot, Abraham's nephew, 
And Lot's wife and Lot's two daughters ; 
How these turned out, you shall n6w hear. 

Lot got drunk and by his eldest 
Daughter had a son called Moab ; 
Of the Moabites he was father, 
Worshippers of Baal and Chemosh, 

And, of Balak, predecessor, 
Who hired Balaam, son of Beor, 
To curse Moses and the children 
Whom God brought up out of Egypt; 

But the angel of the Lord stood 

In the way of the enchanter. 

With a drawn sword, where the road was 

Narrow, and a wall on each side. 

Now the enchanter did not see him, 
Though he was a brave enchanter, 
And had g6ne on and been surely 
Cut to mincemeat by the angel, 

But the donkey he was riding, 

Happily for the enchanter. 

Saw the angel and the drawn sword, 

And stopped short and wouldn't go farther, 

And, when the enchanter chid him, 
And belaboured with his cudgel, 
Bruised his foot against a wall, and 
Fair, at last, into a field turned, 


Only harder struck the enchanter, 
And the ass was getting the worst of it, 
Wh^n God, in his goodness, opened 
Donkey's mouth, and thus said donkey: — 

"If thou hadst one grain of sense, it 's 
Hay and oats thou wouldst be giving me, 
Not this basting with thy cudgel ; 
Who has saved thy life but donkey? 

"See there! see! Look straight before thee!" 
Balaam looked, but could see nothing. 
And was only growing the angrier. 
And, if he had had a sword, would 

For the ass have done exactly 
What, but for the ass, the angel 
Had for him done, when the Lord, to 
Save, at once, the ass's credit 

And the life of the enchanter. 

Deigned to open Balaam's eyes and 

Show him what he had shown the donkey : — 

"I '11 go back again," said Balaam. 

But the angel of the Lord said: — 
"Pdss on, this time; but take warning, 
And turn back the next time donkey 
Stops short where the road is narrow." 

"Asses sometimes stop to bray," said 

Balaam, trembling, "or to piddle." 

"It 's all one," replied the angel; 

"If thou 'rt wise, thou 'It turn back n^xt time; 

"For it 's not to be expected, 
If the Lord again should send me 
With a drawn sword to wayMy thee, 
And thine ass again should spy me, 


"That the Lord a second time will 
Play the fool's part he has toddy played, 
And teach donkey Moabitish, 
Just to balk himself and me, both. 

"So, the next time donkey stops short, 
Turn back, Balaam; if he stops to 
Bray or piddle, there 's small harm done; 
If it 's I 'm there, then thy life 's saved." 

How Lot's eldest daughter had a 
Son called Moab, you have just heard, 
And you have heard who was his father, 
So, I hope, it won't surprise or 

Greatly shock you when I tell you 
Lot got drunk the next night also. 
And his younger daughter bore him, 
in nine months, his son Ben-Ammi. 

Of the Ammonites he was father, 
Whom the Lord would not let Moses 
Drive out, to make room for Israel, 

But preserved safe in the land which 


He had taken from the Zuzims, 
And, when he had killed the Zuzims, 
Given the Ammonites to live in: 
'Twas for Lot's sake he so loved them. 

Of the four elect souls God saved 
Out of Sodom, there remains now 
Only Lot's wife to be told of. 
And of her what need I tell you? 

For there 's not a child but knows well 
That Lot's wife was turned into a 
Pillar of salt, for looking back, and 
Spying what God did to Sodom; 

113 8 

And if but few ever saw that 
Pillar of salt, it is small wonder, 
When we take into account how 
Very deliquescent salt is. 

But, according to his word, the 
Lord did something unto Sarah, 
And the woman of almost a 
Hundred years old, had a fine boy. 

Now I 'm sure you '11 think it odd, God 
Chose to go so by contraries, 
Keeping pretty Sarah barren 
Till she was almost a hundred. 

And then, without rhyme or reason. 
Giving her, all of a sudden, 
Such a bouncing son and heir as 
Made her husband's handmaid jealous: — 

"Ah!" cried Hagar, when she saw the 
Withered, shrivelled patriarchess. 
Giving suck and crying "Hush-o!" 
"I may go about my business." 

At the weaning was a great feast, 
Music, and I don't know what not; 
Abraham happy, Sarah happy, 
Happy all but handmaid Hagar. 

In a corner sat the handmaid. 
Sad and sulky — could you blame her? — 
"What 's the matter, mistress spoil-sport?" 
Sarah said, and called her to her. 

"Are you fretting God has made me 
Independent of your bastard? 
Are you fretting father Abraham 
Has no longer need of handmaids? 


"It 's a thousand pities — isn't it? — 
God has found a way to give the 
World his blessing without help of 
Either Ishmael or his mother. 

"Out! begone! and Ishmael with you; 
In the desert of Beer-Sheba 
You '11 have room enough and time to 
Calculate the age of Sarah." 

Many and many a man 't has fretted, 
That his concubine and wife couldn't 
Live in harmony together, 
And it fretted Abraham sorely. 

He was fond of both his sons, and 

— Who can doubt it? — quite as fond of, 
If not twice as fond of, Hagar, 

As he ever was of Sarah; 

And although he was so full of 
Faith, and knowledge of the true God, 

— In whose universal presence. 
Deserts smile and smell like gardens — 

Couldn't help thinking Hagar and her 
Little Ishmael would be quite as 
Well off in the tent with him as 
In God's desert of Beer-Sheba; 

So he swithered, shilly-shallied, 
And had just begun to think that 
Sarah could as well, or better 
In the desert shift than Hagar, 

When — was not the nodus worthy 
Of a God to come and loose it? — 
God commands, and Abraham drives out 
Hagar, hand in hand with Ishmael. 

1 iJi Q* 

You have heard how cruel Romans, 
At the bidding of their false Gods, 
Used to entomb, alive, the vestal 
Guilty of a peccadillo. 

With a pitcher full of water. 
And a loaf of bread, they left her 
Buried in the ground, to perish, 
And I never heard that of their 

False Gods one came near to save her — 
Ah ! she perished but too surely. 
When she had drained the pitcher empty, 
And the loaf of bread was finished. 

With such bowels of compassion, 
Abraham put a loaf of bread and 
Bottle full of water into 
Hagar's hands and drove her out, with 

Little Ishmael, to perish 
In the desert of Beer-Sheba. 
But his God was not a false God, 
And — as soon as she had finished 

Both the bread and water, and had 
Laid the child down and gone far off, 
That she might not see him perish — 
Made inquiries, by his angel, 

In a loud voice from the sky down, 
(There was no noise in the desert, 
And she heard the voice, distinctly) 
Saying "Hagar, why this crying?" 

— Mother, both, and child were crying, 

So it was no wonder God heard. 

Who, you know, is always listening 

And has sharp ears — "Take the child up, 


"Give him drink — see! yonder 's water" — 
And he showed her where the well was — 
"He 's a fine boy, dnd I '11 rear him 
And make of him a great nation." 

God didn't say — it would have shocked her 
A great nation of blasphemers, 
Pagans, heathens, Moslem robbers, 
Foes of God and of the triie faith. 

I can't say if God himself knew, 
But incline to think he did not; 
God has shown himself, at all times, 
More or less enthusiastic; 

Hoped to make a fine world of it, 
Full of peace and love and blessing, 
Yet, before it was a month old, 
Cursed the job, so bad it turned out. 

So it 's not unlikely God thought 
He would make a second Israel 
Out of Ishmael, and the world bless 
In the wife, both, and the handmaid. 

But let that pass; Hagar did as 
God commanded, took the child up. 
Filled her bottle at the well, and 
Drank, herself, and gave the child drink; 

And the lives of both were saved, and 
God blessed Ishmael, as he promised, 
And he grew up and became the 
Robin Hood of Paran desert. 

Truer shaft, in Sherwood Forest, 
Suit of Lincoln green sped never. 
Than the long shaft from the bow sprang 
Of this first of Bedouin robbers. 


An Egyptian was his mother, 

And he married an Egyptian, 

And had twelve sons — Bedouin chiefs, all 

By his wife some, some by handmaids; 

And he lived a hundred years and 
Seven and thirty, and then died off 
And was gathered to his people — - 
They didn't go to heaven in those days. 


Part Third. 

Lead us not into temptation," 
Is a prayer we offer up to 
God Almighty, night and morning, 
And, no doubt, there is some use in it; 

For, if God one single fault has, 
It 's that he 's so fond of tempting, 
And from the right path seducing. 
His but too confiding children. 

Ah, how happy we might be now. 
What a different world have of it. 
Had but Eve the Lord's Prayer practised, 
She and Adam, night and morning! 

But they did not; they had too much 
Faith in God's own innate goodness. 
To believe there could be use in 
Begging God not to mislead them. 


What the consequence, I need not 
Tell those who so sorely feel it; 
How successful the Creator's 
Pitfall for his own creation. 

Abraham too — but I suspect that 
Abraham knew God was but joking, 
And the joke met with a like joke. 
Didn't at all mean to kill Isaac. 

Hear the story; for yourselves judge; 
Don't take my opinion of it; 
These are times when 'gentle, semple' 
— Young and old — are all alike wise: 

In one of those entertaining 
Conversaziones God used 
Now and then to hold with Abraham, 
He 's reported to have thus said: — 

"Abraham, I 've a woman's longing 
For the smell of a roast child's flesh; 
Thou 'st a son — a loved son — Isaac; 
Kill and roast, and let me smell him. 

"Since I iirst smelt Abel's roast lamb, 
I have loved the smell of roast meat; 
But I hear, of all roast m^ats there 's 
None so savory smells as roast child." 

"Lord," said Abraham, "be not angry, 
But if thou to child's flesh takest. 
How am I henceforth to knoAv thee 
Different from Baal and Chemosh?" 

"Answer me this, flrst," replied God; 
"Why mayn't I be Abraham's God still, 
Though I choose to treat my nostrils. 
This once, to a snift' of roast child? 


'It 's not in itself a thing 's right, 
But it 's right because God does it, 
Or, which comes much to the same thing, 
Right because God bids it be done. 

"To be sure, to kill and roast a 
Child, is murder, in your law's eye, 
And to kill and roast one's own child. 
Worse than murder, twenty times worse; 

"But the case is changed when God bids, 
And — to quote a tongue, beforehand, 
I '11, one day, deal miich in — Deus 
Est justificationi. 

"Then to kill and roast your own child, 
Proves not only your obedience. 
But your righteousness and faith and 
Firm conviction of God's goodness, 

"And that God shall not in vain ask 
You, his servant, to do for him 
That which those who worship Baal and 
Chemosh, cheerfully for them do. 

"Up! make haste! and on the mountain 
f shall show thee in Moriah, 
Kill and roast thy loved son, Isaac; 
High the mountain, and the smell will 

"Reach to heaven, and glad my nostrils, 

And I will remember Abraham, 

And according to my promise. 

Bless, and make a great man of him." 

Further answer Abraham made none 
— Abraham was, you know, a wise man 
But his ass got, and his son took. 
And the wood, and two men, with him. 


And set out and , on the third day, 
To the foot , came , of the mountain 
God had told him of, and left there 
Both the donkey and the two men, 

And said to them: — "Here abide ye, 
While my son and I go higher 
Up the mountain , God to worship ; 
Worship over, we will come back, 

"With the blessing of the God who 
Hates a lie as he loves Abraham, 
And has sworn to bless the whole earth 
In my son , my loved son , Isaac." 

This said, Abraham took the wood and 
Bound it on the back of Isaac, 
And went up the mountain with him, 
Knife in one hand, fire in the other. 

"There 's one thing we have forgot," said 
Isaac simply, as they went up ; 
"Here 's the knife, the wood, the kindling; 
But the lamb, papa, where is it?" 

"God is good, my son," said Abraham, 
"And will with a lamb provide us." 
"Is it good in God," said Isaac, 
"To provide a lamb for killing? 

"Doesn't it hurt the pretty lamb to 
Cut its throat with a great, sharp knife? 
God is not good, or he would not 
Even so much as l^t you kill it." 

"Every thing is good that God does, 

Or bids do," said Abraham, drily; 

"Here 's the place;" and, with the word, the 

Wood untied from Isaac's shoulder. 



And , with Isaac's help , an altar 
Built of sods and stones, and on it 
Laid the ■v\^ood , and on the wood laid, 
Hand and foot bound — his son Isaac. 

You have heard how Ag-amemnon 
Could not bear to look upon the 
Spouting heart's blood of his daughter. 
But his face wrapped in his mantle, 

While into Iphigenia's 

Bared breast Calchas plunged the dagger 

Ah, faint-hearted Agamemnon! 

Weak as his own potsherd idols. 

Abraham , servant of the true God, 
Has a different heart, and in his 
Own hand takes the knife and lifts high, 
And is in the act of striking. 

When — blessed , lucky chance for Isaac 

God remembers, on a sudden. 

That it 's in the •'seed of Isaac, 

He has sworn to bless the whole earth, 

And calls down from heaven: — "Stop, Abraham; 
Thou hast done enough to please me; 
With the animus God 's contented, 
Doesn't require the actual murder. 

"That thou 'rt faithful, thou hast well proved. 

And in future to be trusted 

To do this , or more than this , if 

Need require it, in my service. 

"Therefore I will multiply thee, 
Greatly bless and multiply thee. 
As the sand upon the sea shore, 
As the stars of heaven, in number." 


Abraham stopped and looked about, and 
Saw a ram caught in the thicket 
By its horns, and went and took it 

— There was no policeman near him — 

And upon the altar killed and 
Roasted it, in place of Isaac, 
And God piit up with the smell of 
Roasted ram , instead of roast child's. 

So the sacrifice went on well ; 

God was pleased and so was Abraham ; 

And, when all was over, Isaac 

Wiped his eyes, and whimpered "Amen!" 

And that same hour God determined, 

— Should he ever be so happy 
As to have a son born to him, 

And that son, by good luck, turn out 

To be of so gentle nature 

As in all things to submit him, 

Unresisting , uncomplaining. 

To his father's will and pleasure — 

Not, indeed, to take the knife in- 
-T6 his own hand, Abraham fashion, 

— Foolish people might an outcry 
Raise against so high-flown virtue — 

But into the hands deliver 
Of his ministers , to kill and 
Offer up, as a sin offering, 
On the altar of his father: — 

"So shall all the world acknowledge," 
Said God to himself, complacent, 
"Better father there was never 
Than myself, excepting Abraham ; 


"Nor, to horrid Moloch, ever 
Offered in the vale of Tophet, 
Purer or more spotless victim 
Than I Ve offered to myself up; 

"With whose guiltless blood I '11 smear the 
Sharp edge of my sword of justice, 
With whose guiltless blood I '11 quench the 
Seething of my furious anger; 

"With whose guiltless blood I '11 wash the 
Stains out of his guilty brethren; 
With whose guiltless blood I '11 sprinkle 
The repentent, contrite sinner." 

Thus God to himself, while Abraham 
Went, with Isaac, down the mountain, 
And the ass found, and the two men, 
Waiting for him where he had left them. 

"So the master has brought the lad back, 
After worship , as he promised ; " 
Whispered, as they went along, one 
Of the two men to his comrade. 

"To be sure!" replied his comrade. 
Whispering back; "Why mayn't the master 
Tell truth sometimes — by mistake, or 
When a lie won't serve his purpose?" 

•*True or false," still in a whisper, 
Said the first of the two speakers, 
"Sure as Father Abraham 's in it. 
There 's a trick in it, top or bottom." 

"Old Time 's curious, and will find out, 

If he can ," replied the other, 

"And is honest and will truly. 

Good or bad, tell what he finds out." 


So they whispered on the wdy home, 
Abraham's two men, tittle tattle; 
And you may be sure that Isaac, 
When he got home , wasn't quite silent ; 

But no matter whether it was 
Isaac blabbed or Time that found out, 
You 've the story as I heard it; 
Not one word of it 's my invention. 
Rosamond, Eathgar Road, Dublin, June 17, 1859. 


(jURSE on tobacco for a filthy weed ! 
— Once in his life our royal James had right, 
And dubbed tobacco prince of filthy weeds — 
Filthy to touch, taste, smell, or have to do with, 
Filthy to see, come near, or even so much 
As think of. Execrated be thy name, 
Jean Nicot, with Robespierre's and Marat's, 
And his, who first out of the kindly grape 
Extracted the fell poison alcoholic!" 
As thus I said, preluding, and the shell 
Began to tingle to my touch indignant, 
My daughter stopped me sudden: — "You 're on fire, 
Papa!" she cried, and brushed with rapid hand 
The sparks off, and the burning lappet shook, 
Terrified; for, absorbed and off my guard, 
I had stood too near the smouldering hempen rope 
Which, at the door of the tobacconist 
Whose wares had roused my spirit, dangling hung 
Ready to light the customer's cigar. 
And my light over -coat had taken fire. 
I recognised the hand of Nemesis, 
And threw away the plectrum, and walked thoughtful 


Home to my inn chez Gaultier in St. Gilles 

Les Boucheries, Departement du Gard, 

In France, and passed a sleepless, tossing night, 

And humbled rose next morning and to church 

Went with the earliest, and sang loud his praise. 

Who for Man's use made anacondas, boas. 

Fleas, lice, and chigoes, vampyres and — tobacco. 

Walking- from St. Gilles Les Boucheries, to Arles, Jan. 2, 1861. 



Beard on a quaker! That 's a forward step. 
Now over Credo's fence with one brave leap ; 
Break the preserve and range the forest free, 
And taste how sweet the grass of liberty: 
To be a man, dare; leave to priests their fudge. 
And reason thou, see, hear, and feel and judge. 
Never made Christian faith, or faith of Jew, 
A nobler spirit, heart more warm and true, 
Or purer hands, than his who let one day 
Without a good work done pass sad away. 
Never more ruthless ruffian than our own 
Harry the Eighth spread terror from a throne. 
Nero and Harry! the chief difierence is: 
A parricide that, a wife- beheader this; 
That, an adulterer; this, to clear his bed 
For the fresh bride, chopped off the stale bride's head; 
That, Pater Patriae and chief Pontifex; 
This, Church's head, and Dei gratia Rex; 
Both persecutors; that, to tigers threw; 
With slow fire, this, or ax and headsman, slew: 
Monsters alike, what matters it one jot, 
Which had the faith of Christ, and which had not? 
Casa Cartoni, ax Cavalleggieri , Leghorn, April 8, 1861. 



Zeus built his house as well as he was able, 

But, finding out soon it was far from stable, 

Sent for a mason , bade him take a prop 

And shore it up , too heavy at the top. 

The mason worked well, though he was a Jew, 

Shored up the house, and made it look like new. 

Such is the reason, I hear people say, 

The house that Zeus built to the present day 

Has lasted , and seems likely to last long, 

Though deuced unsteady when the wind blows strong. 

Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri , Leghorn, April 8, 1861. 




"Blasphemia blasphemiarum religio." 

Avaunt! I know ye not, ye vulgar saints. 

Saint John the Evangelist, Matthew, Mark and Luke, 

And Mary Magdalen and John the Baptist, 

And all ye small fry of the calendar. 

Who , to sustain life , needed common air. 

And day and night spent decompounding gases, 

And made a chemist's workshop of your lungs. 

And come, blessed lady mother, of Eisleben, 

Matilda , come ! suppose in me a Dante, 

And be my friend and guide and intercessor, 

Thou, who breath'dst not the atmosphere but drewest 

Out of God's heart thy breath, even as a bellows 


Opening and shutting draws into its void 
The kitchen air, and puffs into the fire. 

Hear, hear my prayer, Matilda! thou to whom 

The Lord so much told about Origen, 

Samson and Titus and wise Solomon. 

Of Origen the Lord said: — "Ask me not; 

That is a secret I will not divulge, 

Lest men presume again upon their genius." 

Of Samson said the Lord: — "What I have done 

With Samson's soul, I '11 never tell to mortal, 

That men henceforth may have a wholesome dread 

Of giving way to that bad passion , vengeance." 

"Ask me not," said the Lord, "what I have done 

With Titus' blameless soul; I '11 keep that close, 

Lest foolish men should take 't into their heads 

There 's small good in religion and I might 

As well have left them pagans to the end, 

And saved myself and them a lot of trouble. 

And as to what I did with Solomon, 

The great and wise king of the Jews, I 'm dumb, 

And never a word will tell for love or money. 

Lest men should set their hearts on carnal pleasures, 

And seek in worldly greatness their chief good." 

Hear, hear, Matilda! thou for whom God's heart 

Opened, received thee in, and closed again, 

And thou wert one with the eternal God, 

And drank'st his blood, and breath'dst his breath divine. 

And wert to him a bride, and he to thee 

A joyful bridegroom who with the Holy Spirit 

Filled thee to overflowing, and with love's 

Warm mantle covered thee and wrapped thee round, 

Thee and himself wrapped round, and ye were one. 

Hear, hear, Matilda! thou who sawest the wheel 
Revolving from the left hand to the right 
Within God's heart; and from God's heart and wheel 
A cord to Man's heart reaching; and the wheel 
Within Man's heart, that to the right hand turns, 


Following the wheel within the heart of God. 

Whiz, whiz they go, harmonious 5 you would swear 

They are two spinning-wheels two maidens ply. 

Each with a foot, beside the cabin door. 

Each humming the same tune and keeping time. 

But, all at once, the wheel within Man's heart 

A fit takes, and stops short, and to the left 

With sudden whir turns, and goes whirring left 

As fast as ever it went whirring right. 

And strains the cord, and drags God's wheel and heart, 

Even as the capstan, turning, drags the anchor; 

And who knows what had happened, had the cord 

Not, happily, been weak and snapped in twain. 

And down fell Man, wheel, heart, and one half cord. 

Leaving God there a little foolish -looking. 

But not one whit the worse, and fully bent 

To fish all up again, some time or other. 

And splice the cord, and set the wheel a-going 

With his own wheel once more, from left to right. 

Matilda, hail ! who on Ascension Day, 

When thou hadst stood two hours in thy cuculla. 

Silent, and meditating on the cross 

Which in the middle of the cloister court 

Beside the well stood, look'dst into the water, 

And sawest that thy cuculla was a cross 

— Its hood, the top ; its two long sleeves, the arms ; 

Its skirt, the standard; — and from that day forth 

Hadst ever in thy cell upon the wall 

The cross of thy cuculla — at full length 

Hung up, with hood extended and both sleeves — 

And when thou walkedst out, walk'dst in the cross, 

Fearless, even though thy way lay over tombs 

Or past the bone -house; and no cold felt'st ever, 

Though in the cloister court five foot of snow; 

Nor sweatedst, though the sun glowed from the solstice. 

Matilda, hail ! who in an ecstasy. 

The Feast of the Conception, sawest God's heart 

n^ 9 

Thrown open, and a lovely maid inside 

Tapping incessant with a diamond ring, 

Incessant tapping, the firm heart of God, 

Askedst her who she was, and hadst for answer: — 

"I am the same who with this diamond ring 

Kept tap, tap, tapping here till forth the babe 

Came, perfect to the nails : I am the same 

Who, on a beam of light, down to the Mother 

Slid with the Father's son: I am the same 

Who, when — some nine months after — he was born. 

Covered his nakedness with swaddling clothes 

And laid him in the manger; brought him, then. 

Into, and out of, Egypt, and — for Man's 

Dear sake and to atone God's righteous wrath — 

Punished him guiltless, persecuted, tortured. 

And at last nailed upon the bloody cross : 

My name is Love — Divine Love — bless my name." 

And thou saidst to the maiden: — "Tap my heart 

Once with thy diamond ring." and Love thy heart 

Tapped, as thou bad'st, and thy hard heart grew soft. 

And thou wept'st tears of pity and of love, 

— Pity and love for Man, and love for God, 

And love and pity for God in the flesh — 

And knelt'st down, and a vow mad'st, on the spot. 

To ascend, up to its very top, the high, 

Rarely ascended Mountain of the Virtues. 

And thou saidst to the maiden: — "Once again 

Tap with thy diamond ring this hard, hard heart." 

And she did so, and faster flowed thy tears 

And wet thy scapular and mantle's hem, 

And to thy sighs and sobs there was no end. 

Till a winged cherub brought the amber box 

In which the tears of seraphim are stored. 

When they weep tears of pity for fallen Man, 

And held it to thine eyes and caught seven drops. 

And said: — "Thy tears with seraphim's are stored." 

And thou wast comforted, and wept'st no more ; 

For though the tear stood in thine eye a while, 


'Twas but to form Hope's rainbow with the ray, 
Fell on it from the smile of Love Divine. 

All hail, Matilda! thou who on Palm Sunday, 

Reflecting on the works which our dear Lord 

Christ Jesus had done for us in the flesh, 

Beganst to wonder what sort of a supper 

Martha and Mary had provided for him, 

The night he was so kind to sup with them 

In Bethany; and straight wast there in spirit, 

And in a little boudoir sawest the Lord 

Seated at table, and by Martha only 

Attended, and with savory venison served, 

And dates and olives and old Jordan wine. 

Whilst Mary at his side, with net in hand, 

Stood catching, and in gold -wire cage confining, 

The words, which, in the shape of nightingales, 

Out of his mouth at intervals were flying. 

And when the Lord asked why thou hadst no net, 

Saidst, "See, I have one." and in thy gown's folds 

Caughtest a nightingale, and in thy bosom 

Mad'st a warm nest for it of love and hope. 

And fedst it with soft emmet eggs of faith. 

And lo! the nightingale began to sing, 

And thou sang'st with it, and the Lord beat time : — 

Beati, quorum tecta sunt peccata. 

And all the nightingales in Mary's cage 

Joined with thy nightingale, and Mary joined 

And Martha, and in one loud chorus sang: — 

Beati, quorum tecta sunt peccata. 

Virgin Matilda, hail! who, step by step, 
With cockle veil, and pilgrim staff in hand, 
Ascendedst the high Mountain of the Virtues 
Even to the top, above the sun and moon 
And firmament; and there beheld'st the Lord 
Standing alone, in dazzling raiment white, 
And fell'st down at his feet, and worshippedst. 
And the Lord welcomed thee with outstretched hand, 

131 9* 

And took thee to walk with him on the broad 

And grassy summit, in the cool, fresh air, 

And when thou saidst he did thee too much honor. 

Answered, no honor was too great for one 

Who had come so far, and neither time nor pains 

Spared to arrive at that, it must be owned. 

Out-of-the-way and inconvenient place. 

So thou consentedst, and went'st with the Lord, 

Enjoying the wide prospect, and to a house 

Camest soon of polished silver, shining bright 

Like the full moon upon a summer's night; 

And shoals of little children round the house 

In all the courts and pleasure-grounds were playing 

Hide-and-go-seek, and Tom -fool -in -the -middle. 

And blind-man's-buff, and various other games. 

And when thou ask'dst the Lord why weren't the children 

At school, learning their lessons, the Lord said: — 

"These children died before the age of five; 

Before the age of five there is no knowledge; 

Until there 's knowledge there can be no sin : 

Therefore these children's happiness is perfect. 

And one perpetual holiday is theirs. 

Books, little used in heaven, were to these children 

Useless, or worse ; sure means of gaining knowledge, 

And knowledge is the harbinger of sin." 

And when thou ask'dst the Lord : — "Will these sweet children 

Always remain so, or will they grow up 

To full -sized angels?" the Lord smiled and said: — 

"Thou shouldst know better than to ask such question. 

Growth there is none in heaven ; how could there be, 

Unless, indeed, in heaven there were decay? 

Such as thou seest them now, so tiny small, 

So young, so happy, and so innocent, 

These little children shall remain for ever, 

The Lord's own special care and chief delight. 

Models to copy even for full -sized angels." 

Then, going further on, thou sawest a house 

Of burnished gold, with precious gems so bright 

Thou might'st as well gaze at the midday sun ; 


And to thy question, wlio lived in that house, 

Eeceiv'dst for answer, 'twas his Mother's house, 

And, when thine eyes were to the light accustomed, 

He 'd bring thee in, and introduce thee to her; 

At present, she requested thine acceptance 

Of the gold crucifix and chain of gold 

He hung about thy neck. And thou saidst to him : — 

"Thou know'st. Lord! I have nothing but my heart 

To give thee and thy Mother, in return 

For these rare gifts." and the Lord said: — "We know. 

Let us thine heart have, and we '11 dwell in it. 

Happier than in a gold or silver house 

All over set with jewels." and thou saidst: — 

"Enter, Lord! into the unworthy house, 

And dwell there always, and thy Mother with thee." 

And the Lord and his Mother, that same day, 

Entered thy heart and dwelt in it thenceforward, 

And all went smooth and easy, as a key 

Turns in a well-oiled spring -and -tumbler lock. 

For the Lord's Mother found the house, though small, 

Convenient, and the Lord had close at hand 

The window of thy mouth to teach and preach from. 

And, lest into the Golden House, now vacant. 

Should slip some evil Spirit, unobserved, 

As erst into our earthly Paradise 

Slipped unobserved the author of our woe. 

The care to guard it 's given to Ursula 

And til' Eleven Thousand Martyrs of Cologne 

Whose virgin blood made Rhine's broad stream run red ; 

And the Lord put into the hand of each 

A lance with lightning tipped, and bade them go. 

Without more arms, and night and day take care. 

For his dear Mother's sake and for his own, 

That nothing evil to that house came near. 

Even in the shape of seraph. And they went 

And, as the Lord bade, round the house patrolled; 

And Ursula herself slept in the house. 

The Moor king's daughter, and six golden lamps 

Kept all night burning, «,nd six tall wax candles 


In candlesticks of gold; and heard tlie tread 

Of th' Eleven Thousand Martyrs of Cologne 

— Whose blood and hers had made broad Rhine run red — 

Patrolling, and the watchwords interchanged; 

And through the curtains saw the lightnings flash 

And quiver on their spear points; and rejoiced, 

And knew there was no fear of harm that night. 

And said her Ave Mary, and slept sound. 

Hail, hail, Matilda! thou for whom the Lord, 

One Sunday morning as thou sang'st the Asperges, 

In full choir, in the chapel, with the nuns. 

Opened his heart's door, and thou enter'dst in: 

And lo ! the Lord inside, with watering pot, 

Watering his vines with water from the river 

Which through the vineyard flowed from east to west. 

The Eiver of his Love, with gold fish gay. 

And planted on each side with shady trees. 

And the Lord's feet and legs, up to the knees. 

Were bare, and round his head a glory shone. 

And in his belt was stuck his pruning hook. 

And the Lord said to thee: — "Matilda, come 

And water with me." and thou took'st a can 

And fill'dst it at the River of his Love, 

And at his side went'st watering the vines. 

And the Lord said: — "This vineyard is my Church, 

And every vine, a soul." and thou saidst: — "Lord, 

Why are these plants here sickly, and those there 

Lying uprooted?" and the Lord said: — "Ah! 

The drought has done this, and an enemy 

Who through the hedge steals oft-times in the night, 

And for sheer wickedness uproots my plants." 

And thou saidst, "Build a wall, Lord!" and the Lord 

Said, as he went on watering: — "'Twere a high 

And strong and well built wall would keep him out." 

And thou saidst, as thou water'dst: — "Build it well 

And strong and high, and spike it on the top; 

For it goes to my very heart to see '' 

This wide -spread havoc here among thy vines." 


And the Lord said: — "The owner of the yard 

Than thou knows better; we will leave 't to Him." 

And the Lord saw thy face and hands were soiled, 

And reprimanded thee, and bade thee go 

And wash them in the river; and thou went'st 

And washedst face and hands and scrubb'dst them clean. 

And joyful hasten'dst back to show the Lord 

How clean the River of his Love had made them — 

But he was gone, and all the vines were watered ; 

So thou returnedst to the nuns and chapel. 

Without being missed, and, taking up the stave 

Where thou hadst dropped it, sang'st the Asperges out, 

And no one was the wiser but the Lord. 

Hear me, Matilda ! thou who to the Lord 

Saidst, when the priest was burying the cross. 

According to the custom, one Good Friday, 

And thou wast in a vision with the Lord, 

In the Nuns' Gallery opposite the altar: — 

"O Lord, beloved of my soul! I wish 

This heart within me were a silver shrine. 

That thou might'st worthily be buried in it." 

And the Lord answered thee and said: — "Nay, nay; 

Thou shalt in me, not I in thee, be buried. 

Above, below, within thee I will be. 

Before, behind, on every side of thee : 

Above thee I will be sweet Hope and Joy, 

To lift thee upward ; under thee I '11 be 

A rock immovable of Strength and Courage; 

Before thee I '11 be Love, enticing on; 

Behind thee Zeal, impelling forward, forward; 

Within, with Life I '11 fill thee; on thy left. 

With Praise confirm, and to good AA^orks incite, thee; 

And on thy right, into the Promised Land 

A Bridge be, for thee, over Jordan's flood." 

And thou saidst to the Lord: — "I 'd fain even now. 

Before we leave this Gallery of the Nuns, 

At once be buried." and the Lord said: — "See! 

Here in my heart of hearts thou art already 


Before - hand buried." and thou look'dst, and sawest 

The chamber of the Lord's heart lit inside 

With tall wax tapers, and with black cloth hung, 

And, in the midst, a coffin on a bier 

And, at the bier's four corners, four fair cherubs 

Standing with folded wings and holding up, 

Each with one hand, a corner of the pall, 

And black- stoled Benedictine Sisters strewing 

The pall with lilies; and the crypt door open, 

And torches flaring round a new- sunk grave, 

And figures flitting dim ; and from the choir 

Thou heard'st the chaunting of the De profundis. 

And lo! while still thou look'dst, the cherubs spread 

Their wings out and soared upward, bearing with them 

The pall, and, on the pall as on a bed 

Lying, amid the lilies, just awaked, 

A nun full dressed in Benedictine habit, 

Clasping, and to her breast with crossed hands pressing, 

An ivory crucifix, and thou knew'st thy soul. 

And fell'st down in a trance at the Lord's feet; 

And the nuns took thee up and carried thee 

Out of the chapel with small signs of life, 

And laid thee on thy bed, and gave thee wine, 

And chafed with vinegar thy hands and temples 

Till by degrees thou camest to thyself, 

And sat'st up, and beganst to eat and drink, 

And to take comfort thou wert still alive. 

Deign, deign, Matilda ! thou who to the wound 

Made in the Lord's foot by the cruel nail, 

Thine ear laid'st, one Ash Wednesday morning early, 

Ere thou hadst broken fast or spoken word. 

And, hearing in it, plain, a bubbling sound. 

As of a pot that boiled upon the fire, 

Askedst the Lord what meant that bubbling sound, 

As of a boiling pot, inside his foot. 

And the Lord said: — "That bubbling, boiling sound 

Thou hear'st within my foot, says 7^un, run, 7un; 

And with like bubbling, boiling sound the love 

J 36 

Within my heart kept crying 7'un, run, run, 

And run, run, run kept crying, and no rest 

From preaching, teaching, minist'ring allowed me, 

And working miracles, till to an end 

I had brought my task, and wrought out thy salvation." 

And thou saidst to the Lord : — "I 'd fain mine ear 

Put to thy wounded hand." and the Lord said : — 

"Put thine ear to my hand." and thou didst so, 

And, in the wound made by the cruel nail, 

A sound heard'st as of hammering on an anvil. 

And ask'dst the Lord what meant that hammering sound. 

And the Lord said: — "That hammering sound 's my Word, 

Which shall cease never, day and night, to hammer. 

Until the iron heart of unbelief 

Is softened in the Heathen, and not Three 

Kings only from the East come, but all kings. 

From north and south and east and west come crowdins:. 

To lay their treasures at the Saviour's feet." 

And thou saidst to the Lord: — "Be not displeased 

If I would fain mine ear lay to thy side 

Where it was wounded by the cruel spear." 

And the Lord bade thee, and thou laid'st thine ear 

To the spear wound and listen'dst, and a sound 

Heard'st, as it were of a loud clanging trumpet. 

Startling and shrill though distant; and thou drewest 

Thy head back, terrified, and ask'dst the Lord 

What meant that dreadful clarion, which thine ear 

So made to tingle and thy blood run cold. 

And the Lord bade thee not fear, but thine ear 

Lay to, again, and listen; and thou didst so. 

And heard'st a sound as if the sea were breaking. 

With all its waves at once, upon one shore ; 

Or as if, down high Himalaya's side. 

The accumulated snows of all the years 

The world has lasted or shall ever last. 

In one stupendous avalanche were falling; 

And had the Lord not with his finger touched 

Thine ear, its drum had broken, and thou hadst never 

Heard sound more: and thou knew'st it was the Last 


Trumpet, thou hadst heard, and Eising of the Dead. 
And, for two whole days after, thou wast deaf 
And lay'st in bed, and on the third day, first. 
Thy foot sett'st to the ground, then first assured 
'Twas steady, and, though on the very eve 
Of its last labour, not in the actual throes, 
And, for a day or two, might hold together. 

Matilda, come! come thou to whom the Lord 

Imparted by the laying on of hands 

— Of his most pure and holy hands on thine, 

Thumb on thumb laid, and finger laid on finger. 

And palm on palm — the power to work and do 

As he had worked and done, here, in the flesh: 

To whom the Lord, his eyes on thine eyes laying, 

The gift of tears imparted and repentance; 

Laying his ears on thine, the gift to hear 

Rebuke with patience and no word retort; 

Laying on thine his rosy lips, the gift 

To preach and pray and minister and teach, 

And magnify in all men's ears his name; 

And — last, best gift of all — to thy cold heart 

His throbbing heart applying, pressed and pressed 

Till thou grew'st warm with love, and took'st, like wax 

Softened before the fire, the seal's impression. 

Thou, thou who, when the Lord was fain to leave thee, 

Criedst: "Nay; not yet. Lord!" and laid'st hold on him, , 

Even as the wife of Potiphar on Joseph, 

And clung'st to him and wouldst not let him go. 

And took'st thy harp and play'dst on it, and sang'st: — 

Mane, mane, Domine, nobiscum; 

Mane nobiscum, Domine, Rex gloriae ! 

And the Lord turned about to thee and said, 

"Look in mine eyes," and thou look'dst in his eyes. 

And he in thine looked, and thou sawest thyself 

In the Lord's eyes as in a looking-glass; 

And light from thine eyes passed into the Lord's, 

And from the Lord's eyes light passed into thine, 

As from one looking-glass into another 


The sun's rays are reflected back and forward. 

And tlie Lord raised his voice and Veni, sang, 

Veni, AMIGA mea! and thou sang'st 

Domine! venio. and thy voice became 

One with the Lord's, though different the words; 

And angels brought and set upon thy head 

A golden crown, all glittering bright with jewels, 

And knelt, and tuned their opal harps, and sang 

The praises of the crowned bride of the Lord. 

Thou comest not, thou hearest not my prayer, 

Blessed Matilda, Lady of Eisleben ! 

For with the Lord thou hast gone into the desert, 

Arm in arm walking, in sweet confidence. 

And lighting there upon a pleasant spot. 

Shady and fresh, and gay with various flowers, 

At sheep -and -shepherd playest with the Lord, 

He sitting on a bank, thou browsing near, 

And with gold collar and a chain of gold 

Linked to a golden eyelet in his heart. 

And kept from straying. In his breast 's a rose. 

Blushing, full blown, with five sweet -smelling petals, 

— Emblems of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling. 

And touching; the five lifeguards of the flesh — 

His crook lies at his side, and, on his pipe, 

He plays airs so delicious I don't blame thee 

Thou hear'st not, heed'st not, com'st not to mine aid, 

Blessed Matilda, Lady of Eisleben! 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, April 6, 1861.] 

Man, of all animals, has the strongest faith 

And weakest reason. 
For, of all animals, Man alone believes 
Against plain reason. 
[GiRSCH, Bohemia, Aug. 16, I860.] 


Live, while thou llv'st; and, when thou com'st to die, 

Bow graceful, and retire without a sigh. 

Thou hast played thy part; let those who ring thy knell 

Settle, among them, whether ill or well ; 

It 's their concern, not thine; for praise and blame. 

And ill and well, are to the dead the same, 

And alike brave, magnanimous and just 

Are dead Achilles and Thersites' dust. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, March 9, 1861.] 


Next time you 're making a great world," to God 
Said Satan once, still smarting from the rod, 
"Let me but have some hand in it, and some will, 
And, I '11 be bound, 'twill not turn out so ill." 
"Who spoiled my first world?" cried Omnipotence: 
"I thought till now, even devils had some sense." 
"Nay, don't be angry, sire," said Satan, mild, 
"Nor quite the heart break of your once loved child; 
I own my error; but the question 's not 
Who was it sent your first made world to pot. 
But why it was so badly put together 
That, like a ship which, in mere stress of weather. 
Goes to the bottom far from shoal or rock, 
It foundered, helpless, in the first blast's shock. 
So, what do you think, if, next time, you and I 
Would put together our two heads, and try 
Whether we can't between us make a man 
Of better stuff than Adam? there 's a plan 


Strikes me just now, that with both heaven and hell 

Dispenses, and perhaps might answer well." 

"Out with it, quick," said God, "for, thrown away 

On me, good hint was never : when men pray 

I always listen, and a wise suggestion 

Thus pick up, sometimes, on a knotty question; 

Rarely, however; for it 's sad to say 

How oft they cheat me, even when they pray. 

But upon you I think I may rely, 

Though fallen, an angel born, and of the sky 

And this high court of mine permitted guest. 

And free to mingle with the first and best 

When I hold levee, or in starry hall 

Dinner official give, or fancy ball. 

Out with your plan then, bold." "It 's simply this. 

Wise sire," said Satan; "take it not amiss: 

We '11 to our joint work not the choice leave free, 

To stand or fall; it was that liberty 

— Not I, who bade him use it — your man spoiled, 

And all his Maker's kind intentions foiled. 

We '11 make our man what we choose, choose, and be 

Our humble servant — not his servants, we. 

You to be God ceased, when you delegated 

Your royal privilege, and were soon checkmated. 

Our man we '11 make choose not to fall but stand, 

And do in all things just as we command. 

Fie ! it 's below the dignity of God 

To keep a school and govern with the rod." 

"Egad! you 're right," said God, "my clever Sat; 

Wasn't I a blockhead, not to think of that! 

Give me your hand : our new man chooses free. 

Or thinks he chooses, while, behind backs, we 

Inspire his free choice and our sovereignty 

Maintain intact." So said, they parted, friends; 

And here, at last, my truthful story ends. 

Some add that God slept little all that night 

Thinking of Satan till the dawning light. 

And how not through his own fault Adam fell. 

And should by no means have been sent to hell, 


And then and there his mind made up, some time 

Or other, to take on himself the crime 

He had himself occasioned, and to die 

In proper person or by deputy, 

And so his sense of justice satisfy — 

Oddly enough, methinks the reader says, 

And I say too; but, in those ancient days. 

Nothing more common was than something odd 

Done, or intended to be done, by God. 

[Walking from Leghorn to Torrk di Calafuria, March 6, 1861.] 


A minute — and a minute — and a minute — 
Until the last; and then — "What then?" Why, nothing; 
Unless, indeed, last minute 's not last minute. 
And what 's come to an end is not yet ended. 


A minute — and a minute — and a minute — 

Until the last; and then — "What then?" Why, nothing; 

What except nothing can come after last 

Minute, not come while anything exists? 

For time is but a property of thing, 

— Belongs to thing, like number or extension — 

Or, if you please, a mode of viewing thing. 

An aspect under which things are compared. 

And dies away and vanishes, with thing. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, March 15, 1861.] 


Vox populi vox dei." To be sure! 
For, be Gods many, few, or only one, 
They are tbe people's making — made, to make 
Them and the world, and do their will supreme. 
Woe, woe betide the God who dares rebel! 
Ask Jove, Jehovah ask, if I 'm not right; 
After a hundred ages more, ask Christ. 

[Milan, June 8, 1861.] 



Man, I Ve heard say — no matter by whom said 

A say so vain — is but a wiser ape. 

Made of same flesh and blood ; one of the vast 

Fraternity of living, sentient beings 

Which on this twirling ball are born and die, 

And dust with dust mix undistinguishable, 

Material for new beings evermore. 

But I '11 describe the ford as I have found it, 

Filling the blanks of my experience up 

With reference now and then to th' Authorized 

Statistical Society Report: 

Man 's a ten -fingered, ten -toed, tailless biped, 
With toothless, gummy jaws till six months old, 
And scarce at two full years old able first 
To express by other means than cries and sobs 
The wants of the intelligent, etherial. 
Immortal spirit which within him dwells. 
Hid, no one knows exactly how or where 


Or for what jDiirpose, but within him hid 

Undoubtedly, and some day to break forth 

Glorious, unveiled, in all its native beauty 

Unspeakable, and dwell for ever more 

With seraphs, and the praises sing of God. 

In the mean time he 's flogged at school, and learns 

To spell and read, perhaps, and add up Pounds 

Shillings and Pence, and home by dear Mamma 

At Christmas brought, or Easter, has outgrown 

— Prodigious ! — in the short space of six months, 

By five full finger -breadths his corduroys, 

And must get new, or be the laughing-stock, 

After the holidays, of the whole school. 

And has not the etherial germ within, 

Enlarged in like proportion? learned to play 

At odd -and -even, rob a blackbird's nest 

Or magpie's, in the season, and despise 

As idle bugbears, fit to frighten fools, 

The dangers of a midnight escapade 

Into the vicar's orchard, though the way 

Lies past the church and through the church -yard straight? 

So pass two lustrums and one half the third; 

The other half the third and all the fourth 

Are scarce enough to humanize a little, 

And fine with Greek and Latin down, the spirit, 

Divine indeed, but barbarous still and coarse, 

And little fit for office or profession 

Civil or military, or to sit 

In either House and win respect and honor. 

So praised be Greek and Latin, although hard, 

And Mathematics; enemies, to the death, 

Of gambling, betting, cockfighting, horse -racing, 

Drinking, tobacco -smoking, handicapping. 

And all the ruder instincts of the fine, 

Delicate, etherial, heaven -descended spirit. 

Cruel the war, and with like bravery waged 

On either side, and varying success; 

And many a laurel 's won on either side, 


And many a sad reverse comes unexpected. 
But help 's to one side near; for, with the fifth 
Kevolving lustrum, Thirst of Gold accursed, 
And, more accursed still. Thirst of Domination 
Make with their cognate Instincts common cause, 
And Greek and Latin, routed, quit the field 
And in entrenched forts hide, with Mathematics; 
And th' Instincts' banner floats upon the breeze. 
Victorious; and the Instincts' legion shout, 
Rending the sky, with lo- paeans shakes 
Heaven's palaces, and indecorous stuns 
With gratitude uproarious the Gods' ears. 

Our heaven-descended animal at ease 
Passes the next five lustrums, for the field. 
Once won, is by the Instincts held tenacious. 
And his whole body and whole soul are theirs, 
And Interest rules the roast, and Toil and Pleasure 
Divide the man between them, and he grows 
Stooped, by degrees, and stiff, and hoary haired. 
And dim of vision, and of hearing dull; 
And rich or poor as Fortune throws the dice, 
Capricious ; and from lustrum into lustrum 
Slides gradual — sighing, and sore discontent 
To see heaven, every day, a whole day nearer: 
Ah! why so soon, for unknown, empty ether, 
Must this familiar ball of earth, delicious, 
So firm and so substantial, be exchanged? 
Ah! why not here the immortal spirit fill 
Its years unnumbered, up, as well as yonder? 
Why must it writhe and wriggle, into two 
By Death cut — like a snake by a cart-wheel? 
No matter; lustrums come and lustrums go, 
And every one away upon its wing- 
Takes with it some part, fractional or whole, 
Of our compounded animal and spirit: 
Teeth by half dozens, tresses by whole handfuls. 
The ruby of the lips, the cheek's red rose. 
The soft, white, shining satin of the skin, 

145 10 

The light, elastic step, the pliant joint, 

The tense and vigorous muscle, and — worse rape 

The solid judgment, vivid memory clear, 

The lively joke, the ready repartee. 

Mirth, joy, and hope, and Bacchus and Dione. 

And so into his dreaded fifteenth lustrum. 

Or his sixteenth perhaps, goes hobbling on, 

Not without stick's or crutch's aid, or both, 

Our scion of the Gods, our imp divine, 

Our intellectual, spiritual biped 

Omnivorous — omnivorous, I mean. 

While he has teeth, for sago is his food. 

These long years past, and jelly, and soft meats, 

And, to assist his gummy, ill -matched jaws. 

He carries in his pouch an apple -scoop; 

A wig defends his bald pate from the flies; 

Bleared are his eyes, and from his livid nose 

Distils the clear drop: one ear 's wholly deaf; 

In through a trumpet screaming to the other. 

You make the immortal soul hear where she sits 

Shy hid within her sanctum — make her hear, 

But strive in vain to make her understand; 

How can she understand, who can no longer 

Reason or judge — whose memory 's not a mere 

Rased tablet, but a tablet from whose surface 

All new impressions vanish instantaneous? 

But, sent already twice, lo ! Palsy comes 

Third time, and finds our spirit ripe for heaven 

And angel choirs, and takes her on his wing. 

And soars aloft, and on the golden threshold 

Of God's court sets her down, to sing God's praise 

And tune a seraph's harp for ever more. 

Forgetful of the flesh, which, left behind 

On earth, lies rotting and to dust returning. 

Till the last trump's alarm shall raise it up 

In dusty clouds and carry it to heaven, 

There to renew acquaintance, and remind 

Of "auld lang syne" the spirit, and, afresh 


Forming one compound with her, undergo 

God's judgment on the former compound's doings. 

Nor deem unjust the judgment: who art thou, 

Emmet! that tak'st on thee to judge thy judge? 

All judgment 's free indeed — else 'twere not judgment 

But, whilst thou hast yet to stand before the bar, 

Thou 'It, if thou 'rt wise, thy judge, if not applaud. 

At least not censure — even by implication. 

So not one word of pity for the spirit. 

After her thousand or ten thousand years 

Of separation from the encumbering body. 

Again united with it, to be judged. 

Hasn't she a chance, a fair chance, of acquittal? 

Isn't her judge wise and merciful and good? 

He won't, nay! nay! he won't if he can help it, 

Send her to hell down, who has so long enjoyed 

— Provisorily indeed, but still enjoyed — 

The burgher- right of heaven, and so long sung, 

In unison with angel harps, his praise. 

Nor word of pity venture for the dust. 

After a thousand or ten thousand years. 

Revivified, not on its own behoof 

Or for its own good, but to be again 

Exposed to peril and vicissitude. 

And suffer judgment posthumous for acts 

Forced on it by the spirit. Isn't its judge 

As full of mercy as he 's wise and strong. 

And won't he do his possible to save it 

From his own righteous condemnation's pains? 

Such is the genus Homo, such is Man ! 
Sole genus composite, of all the unnumbered 
Genera that walk, fly, swim, or hop, or creep; 
Sole laughing, weeping, talking, cooking genus; 
Sole genus with inheritance post mortem — - 
By right, in hell; in heaven, by grace especial; 
Grace, to some odd elect scores granted free. 
Withheld from millions equally deser\ing. 
Such is the genus Homo, such is Man ! 

U7 10* 

Genus aristocrat, for whose sole use 
The Impartial has created all the others, 
And given them to it for service or mere pastime, 
Their skins for clothing and their flesh for food; 
Genus par excellence, made in its Maker's 
Image, so like, some naturalists have taken 
Maker and made for one and the same genus. 
Such is the genus Homo ! art not proud of it, 
Kind, gentle, yawning, most magnanimous reader — 
Far be it from me to call thee wiser ape, 
And so upon my back bring tAvo at once, 
Thee, and the ape's offended dignity? 

[Finished at Seevelen (Canton St. Gallen), June 26, 1861.] 

Why I 'm not popular 's in one word told: 
To lash the vices of mankind I 'm bold. 
And little given their vanity to flatter; 
What wonder so few like me — or what matter? 
Wordsworth for most of them is good enough. 
Or Moore's or Byron's ill digested stufl"; 
Or Bab Macaulay's lays ; or touching scene 
Of Hiawatha or Evangeline ; 
Or tale of some old clock at the stair head, 
That strikes the hour as you go up to bed ; 
Or Idyls of the King — fit title, sure, 
For laureate verses, and the ear to allure 
Of condescending royalty, to hear 
Notes that won't jar even on a royal ear. 
It 's seldom I praise God, or anthems sing; 
But when I do, it 's ahvays for one thing: 
That his good providence has so supplied 
With worthless books this great world far and wide. 
Readers are not com23elled to have recourse 
To better books for the mere lack of worse. 
[Walking from Seevelen, Canton St. Gallen, to Wildhaus, June 26, 1861.] 




W HAT a pity Gambrinus a temple built not, 

And high on the altar set up a beer -pot 

With liome- brewed frothing over! from Mecca and Rome 

And far-famed Jerusalem the pilgrims had come, 

Each one with a bottle, to bring home a drop 

Of the certified tap, and set up a beer-shop; 

And the old Flanders' king had all prophets out-done, 

And the beer-drinker's faith, all faiths under the sun ; 

And I 'd been a convert, and, errors forsworn. 

Nourished body and soul upon John Barleycorn, 

And grown fatter, and plumper, and rounder each day, 

And turned my nose up at oat-gruel and whey. 

And lived till Death took me, and cared not one jot 

How soon or how late. — Fellow, fill me the pot! 

Fill it up ! your healths, all, sirs ! and aren't we in clover. 

With his pipe, every one, and full pot foaming over? 

[Walking from Dusslingen to Tubingen, July 17, 1861.] 

Here 's my faith, my chapel here, 
In this foaming pot of beer; 
Here I '11 live and here I '11 die. 
These true words my elegy: 

Whilst he lived he was a man ; 
Whilst he lived he loved his can; 
Now he 's dead and drinks no more, 
On that sad and sober shore, 
Stranger, go and do as he 
Living did, and merry be. 
Drinking every day thy can, 
A rosy, fat, kind-hearted man. 
[TiJBlNGEN, July 17, 1861.] 


All things require a maker." To be sure! 
All things within the world require a maker; 
But he who argues that the world itself 
Therefore requires a maker, argues vain, 
Argues, that is, without vis consequentiae, 
For, parallel to the world, we have no thing. 
No second world from which to draw conclusions. 
Cease, then, to talk of Maker of the world, 
As if the world a thing were, in the world — 
Mouse, man, or blade of grass, or stone, or clock, 
Table or chair or book or warming-pan. 
Enough for thee, of things within the world. 
Modest, to think, and to each thing assign. 
As far as in thee lies, its proper cause, 
Near or remote. Beyond the world 's a blank — 
Nay, less 5 for not with all thy wit canst thou 
So much as even beyond the world imagine. 

[Walking from Mudau in the Odenwald to Amobbach, July 31, 1861. 


Who cheats me best, I love him most, 

And do the most admire ; — 
'The doctor?' No. 'The lawyer?' Fshaw ! 

It is the holy friar. 

The doctor comes and feels my pulse, 
And bids me show my tongue; 

Then knits his brow and shakes his head 
"There 's surely something wrong." 


"O Doctor, Doctor, save my life; 

I am a dying man : 
There 's gold, there 's gold, and do for me 

What art and physic can." 

The lawyer comes with parchment sheet, 

Behind his ear, his quill : — 
"There 's gold, there 's gold, sweet Lawyer dear, 

And draw for me my will." 

The friar comes, and prays with me: — 

"To heaven thy soul shall go." 
"There 's gold, there 's gold, thou holy Friar! 

Thy words me comfort so." 

"I spurn thy gold," the friar replies, 

"Heaven is not bought with gold; 
The Church for thee wide open throws 

The door of Jesus' fold; 

"Confess thy sins, and enter in, 

And banish doubt and fear; 
Eternal joy awaits, above. 

The child of sorrow here." 

"Twelve acres of my fattest land 

I leave the Church, in fee, 
To build an abbey fair thereon. 

And masses sing for me ; 

"Masses to sing for my soul's rest, 

When I am dead and gone; 
And every priest that sings a mass, 

Shall have a golden crown. 

"Twelve acres more I leave the prior, 

And name the Church, trustee; 
The third and last twelve acres shall 

My children's heritage be." 


And so I die. — Who cheats me best 

I love most and admire; — 
'The doctor?' No. 'The lawyer?' Pshaw! 

It is the holy friar. 

[Walking from Aschaffejkburg to Framersbach (Spessart), Aug. 4, 1861.] 


yuEM creavit, adoravit 

Pia mater; 
Quem creavit, ignoravit 

Catus pater; 
Ilium nothiim, delibutum 

Quinta parte 
Mellis sui, ipse Deus 

Adoptavit, educavit, 

Marty r'zavit, 
E sepulchro suscitavit 

Et in altiim 
Caeli solium, honoratum 

Ut piaret nostrum scelus — 

Bonus Deus ! 
In perpetuum sit laudatum 

Nomen ejus. 

[Walking from Sassuolo (near Modena) to Paullo, Nov. 1, 1861. 



lou say the priests deceive the people; I 
Beg you 'd so kind be as to tell me why — 
Why should a man play fast -and -loose with those 
Who give him money, lodging, food and clothes; 
Who show him honor, all his biddings do, 
And at his side stand faithful still and true. 


But they are men of learning and good sense, 
And must know well, one half they say 's pretence. 


Ay, to be sure! but not upon their part: 
They say their lesson, like a child, by heart; 
Preach what their bounden duty 'tis, to preach ; 
And what they arc paid and fed for teaching, teach. 


Their duty is to teach and preach what 's true. 


Dear sir, excuse me; that would never do. 
A man, if stout and healthy, lives, you know. 
Some sixty, seventy, eighty years, or so, 
But to explore and to the bottom probe 
Doctrinal truth, too few the years of Job 
Or old Methuselah. 


I did never doubt 
A single life too short to make truth out. 
And priests must preach, or of mere hunger die; 
All I require 's they do not preach a lie. 



Mark the dilemma: of mere hunger die 
Or teach the people — 


Only not a lie. 


Mark the dilemma: of mere hunger die 
Or to the people preach — 


But not a lie. 


Something they must preach, or of hunger die; 
And life 's too short to find out what 's a lie 
And what is truth — 


But lives together strung 
Find the truth out; it flies from tongue to tongue. 


And so we agree; the priest, not what he knows, 
Preaches, or what his own clear reason shows 
To be the truth, but what he has heard is true. 
And dares not doubt — starvation full in view. 
And, to some minds worse even than starvation, 
Reproach and infamy and degradation. 


You mean to say it 's not the priests who guide, 
But to the people's tail the priests are tied. 


Not to the tail tied, but set in the van 

To cry "Come on!" and with old, rusty pan, 

Kettle and tongs make, each, what noise he can ; 

As you have seen before some regiment go 

A band of music, to inspire the slow, 

And regulate the step — not point the way — 

Each fife and drum in quarter - master's pay. 


All true, it must be owned; but how is it, then, 
Ever a Luther rises amongst men? 



Some bran new crotchet, whispered not avowed, 

Finds here and there odd converts in the crowd; 

A party 's formed; a party needs a head; 

No flock of goats but by a buck is led ; 

Honor 's the guerdon, and a glorious name: 

Who would not take the danger, for the fame? 

So Luthers, Numas, Calvins, Christs arise, 

And bold Mohammed's banner flouts the skies ; 

So Cranmers, Ridleys, Savonarolas burn. 

And every creed stands at the stake in turn, 

And mounts in turn the throne, puts on the crown, 

And at its feet sees half the world bow down. 

Make haste and with the rest bow. Prudence cries ; — 


1 bow, I bow. 


All right; and thou art wise. 
[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavalleggieri , Leghorn, November 15, 1861.] 


Man 's a robber by instinct; who doubts it the least, 

Who has seen two kings join, to rob even their own priest? 

To be sure ! and an excellent rule 's tit for tat. 

Though less robber than thief was the priest, for all that; 

For the strong man 's a robber, the weak man 's a thief, 

And to take others' goods, of all instincts is chief; 

And robbers and robbed are the whole human race. 

And these and those change, every now and then, place; 

And today I 'm a robber, tomorrow I 'm robbed; 

And my booty today, by a stronger is fobbed 

Or a cleverer, tomorrow; and so it goes on, 

And so, since the world went on wheels, it has gone, 


And so, while the world goes on wheels, it will go ; 

By whose fatilt, if you ask me, I vow I don't know, 

And to ferret it out though I batter my brains. 

Get only more dust in my eyes for my pains. 

Well, no matter, sweet reader! even robbers, you know, 

Have some honor amongst them, at least they say so, 

And I pledge thee the faith of a robber, I '11 thee 

Never rob while I live, so thou never robb'st mef 

And hurrah for Rob Roy and Roy Rob and the man 

Who takes all he 's able and keeps all he can! 

And let him who can't stand, take good heed lest he fall 

In spite of his crutch and God's help and the wall; 

For I 'd like to know why should the Seven Hills of Rome 

Of the same band of thieves be for ever the home; 

And if Cacus himself was put down by a stronger, 

Why should Pius the Ninth hold the den an hour longer? 

Up then ! up then, Italians ! your guns on your shoulder ! 

Garibaldi 's the word ! Ere the year 's a day older. 

To the Capitol forward ! — For Venice we '11 hope — 

Evviva r Italia! To hell with the Pope! 

[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, March 31, 1862.] 

Well! I 'll be patient, to myself I said. 
And, though it 's hard, do what I can to bear it. 
Not doubting but it 's all to end in good. 
And yet, methinks, and with respect be it said, 
Heaven did not take exactly the right way 
To have me patient, giving me in hand 
The ill, and only promising the good. 
Ah, if instead of setting the cart so 
Before the horse, it had into my hand 
Given the good, and promised me the ill. 
What perfect model I had been of patience! 
With what sure hope looked forward to the future! 
[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jan. 4, 1862.] 




Unce on a time, three Powers in Congress met, 

And to divide the world between them, set. 

As if 't had been an apple. Of the three 

Not one but was the pink of courtesy 

And gentle breeding, full of common sense, 

And high above suspicion of pretence 

Or double-dealing; starred and gartered two, 

And truly Christian; whether the third Jew, 

Mormon or pagan was, or infidel. 

So plain his costume, it were hard to tell : — 

"Into three parts," said Knowledge, in the chair, 

"We '11 cut it, and take each an equal share." 

"All wrong," said Dogma; "every body knows 

The Chair has n6 right either to propose 

Or vote ; its business is to put the question. 

Ignorance, we 're waiting upon thy suggestion." 

"Wait not on me," said Ignorance; "I agree 

Always in every word that falls from thee, 

Respected Dogma. Never from the side 

Of his best friend shall Ignorance divide." 

"My motion 's this," said Dogma; "that we cut 

The world in two." The Chair the question put. 

And took the votes — it was not hard to do — 

And sighing said: — "The ayes have it" and withdrew. 

"I don't know why we should divide at all," 

Said Ignorance, when Knowledge left the hall; 

"Nor I," said Dogma, "now that villain 's gone; 

Ignorance and Dogma never were but one, 


Nor ever sliall be. Give me here thy hand: 

We '11 rule together over sea and land, 

One heart, one head, one interest, one soul ; 

Thou shalt have mine, I thine, and both the whole. 

Princes and senates shall our subjects be ; 

Priests, our police; heaven, hell and purgat'ry 

Our brevets, honors, decorations, taws, 

For those that keep, and those that break, our laws." 

"Hurrah ! hurrah !" cried Ignorance, and took 

The hand of Dogma and with fervor shook; 

"We '11 have the laugh at Knowledge, at the fool. 

Or knave, I don't know which, who thought to rule, 

To rule with us, the impertinent!" They said. 

Drew up the protocol, and, when they had read 

And found it all right, parted with a kiss, 

To rule the world from that hour until this. 

So old the story, I '11 not vouch it true; 

To few old stories is much credit due; 

They 're mostly parables, like the Prodigal Son ; 

So, if you please, you may take this for one. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleqgieri, Leghorn, Dec. 21, 1861.] 


Ah! had I but that L of thine," to Gold 
Said God one day, "methinks I would be happy." 
"What wilt thou give me for 't?" said Gold, considering. 
"Nothing," said God, "it only does thee harm; 
If it were mine I 'd know how to make use of it." 
"Well! as thou 'rt God," said Gold, "thou mayst command me." 
And handed God his L. Wasn't he a ninny? 
And wasn't God clever? for, from that day forth, 
God had the real honor; Gold, the show. 
[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleogieri, Leghorn, February 2, 1862.] 



Once on a time I knew a go-between, 

Who back and forward ran, the livelong day 

And all his life, between two not too well 

Agreeing parties, and so cleverly 

His business managed as to cheat them both, 

And on his gains live happily and well. 

He came to me one day, this go-between, 

The bearer, as he said, of compliments 

From one of the two parties, and inquired 

If he might not my compliments bring back. 

But I knew well, and, if I had not known. 

Had in his supple cringe and bland smile seen, 

'Twas but to drive a wider trade he wanted; 

To open a new market, as they say. 

And force his wares upon me. So I told him. 

Whoever sent him, if he had aught to say. 

Might come himself and say it; I dealt only 

With principals; and took him by the shoulder 

And pushed him out, and slammed the door upon him, 

And thought I had got rid of him; but lo! 

That very night I had my windows broken. 

And my friends tell me that from that day forth 

He has never ceased to call me names opprobrious, 

And threaten vengeance, not his own alone 

But that of both the parties who employ him. 


His name I dare not for my life divulge, 

But by this sign you '11 know him anywhere : 

God is his first word, every time he speaks, 

And every time he speaks, his last word 's money. 

Thou shak'st thine head, and look'st, embarrassed, round 

For an interpreter; behold him, there! 

Never Academician better knew 

Than Prince Plon-Plon, to find thee rhyme for traitre. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri , Leghorn, Febr. 13, 1862.] 

IF this beer-can a chapel were. 
What pious man were I ! 

The very sight of it fills my heart 
With love and ecstasy; 

And then the touch — the smell — 
Ye Gods, but they 're divine ! 

I '11 never, never from it part, 
While life and breath are mine. 

the taste — 

And when at last my breath is out, 
And up to heaven I go, 

I '11 be content if I no worse 
Above fare, than below; 

Let me a chapel find above. 
As foaming, full, and strong, 

And there I '11 worship all the day. 
Nor find the day too long. 

This is my prayer; Gambrinus, hear! 

And intercede for me ! 
Now, jolly fellows, fill your pots : — 
" Gamljrinus' memory ! " 
[Casa Caktoni, ai CAVALLKGijiKitr, Lkghorn, Febr. 9, 1862.] 


Gunpowder, steam, and Printing, and The Wire — 

Rude! so to call the holy Prophet, liar; 

Upstarts ! as if he had nothing else to do 

— So full you 're of yourselves — but think of you! 

Come, try your own hands, sirs, and let us see 

How wiser much than the old, the new seers be. 

I knew it! new Printings, Steams, Gunpowders, Wires, 

And — how could you forget? — new Prophet liars! 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jan. 20, 1862.] 


Who 's the great sinner? He, who gave the power 
And will to sin, and knew both would be used. 


Who 's the great sinner? He, to whose sole will 
Sinner and sin alike owe their existence. 


Who 's the great sinner? He, who, being Omniscient, 
Foresees all sins, and, being Omnipotent, 
Can, if he please, prevent them and does not — 
Nay, not alone does not, but punishes; 
And — one tic farther still, one farther tic 
Incredible — when punishment 's no use. 
[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jau. 21, 1862.] 

m 11 

oHE begged my alms because she rvas a widow. 

'Twas her own fault, I said, she needn't have married; 

Pity, she hadn't some dozen of children too! 

My alms should then have been some dozen times greater. 

"In one respect then, even on your own showing, 

I 'm right," replied the beggar, "and deserve 

If not your alms, at least your approbation." 

I smiled, and gave to flippancy the alms 

I had, in social reason's name, refused 

To mendicancy, and we parted friends, 

She with my penny, rich, I with her blessing, 

Each bestowed lightly, neither well deserved. 

Brotherly kindness, whither hast thou fled? 

In what wild Tartar steppe, what Arab waste, 

Amongst what savage horde of Esquimaux, 

Sweet human pity, hast thou taken refuge, 

Chased from among the civilized, by Kates, 

Commissioners, Inspectors, Guardian-boards, 

Relieving- officers and Settlements, 

And all the dire machinery of the hard, 

Heartless, demoralizing Workhouse Law? 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Febr. 11, 1862.] 

He died unwept. "Because he went to heaven?" 
No, but because unfit to heaven to go ; 
Had he been good enough to go to heaven, 
There had been n6 end to our pitying tears : 
Whee! whee! see how I weep for the Prince Consort. 
[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Febr. 18, 1862.J 


My first director on the way to knowledge 

— Ere yet ten summers o'er my head had rolled, 
And I still lingered about Bluebeard's castle, 

Or wandered in the wood where Beauty lay 
Sleeping her long, deep sleep of forty years — 
Was Volney, awful with his Empire Ruins 

— Awful to me a child — and many an hour 
I gazed, bewildered, at the shadowy hand 
Which beckoned me a way I feared to tread. 
Goethe came next — not Dorothea's Goethe, 
Or maniac Tasso's, or Iphigenia's, 

But Charlotte's Goethe — and a lesson read me 

Perilous to my young heart, and all day 

I raved of Werther and all night long dreamed. 

Till a fantastic mask, beside a stage 

Erected on the fair- green of our village. 

Inviting me, I enter, and, astonished. 

Find myself in the midst of fairy sprites, 

Wizards, hobgoblins, loving ladies fair. 

Barons and knights and courts and camps and battles, 

And sigh with Romeo, and with Hamlet rave. 

And jest with gay Mercutio, and the storm 

With Ariel ride, and cry: "Tom 's cold", with Edgar, 

And moralize with Jacques; and laugh and weep, 

And weep and laugh, by turns, and blush for shame ; 

And love and hate, at once, vile human nature. 

Next, to my door a wandering minstrel came, 

Blind and in tatters, and so sweetly sang 

lt)3 11* 

Divine Achilles' wratli and Priam's tears, 

And hapless Hector's bold, undaunted heart, 

And patriotism and love, that I forgot 

Vile human nature, and looked happy forward 

To be, some time at last, a brave, good man, 

And serve my country, and, if need required. 

Even for my country die. A fair youth, then. 

Of easy manners, as to courts accustomed, 

And modest though not diffident, approached me. 

And linked his arm in mine, and drew me with him 

Apart into his closet, and there sdng me, 

In tones whose melody thrills in mine ear. 

Even to this day, unrivaled, the exploits 

Of that magnanimous, heaven - favored prince 

Who led Troy's fugitives across the deep 

To found in Italy a greater Troy. 

So sweet the song, that I almost forgave 

Its aim, to please unlearned and learned alike; 

Almost admired the Proteus bard's address. 

Now, to Jove's will supreme and uncontrolled. 

The universe and all that it contains 

Abject submitting ; now, to stronger Fate, 

Making submit even Jove's unconquered will. 

And blowing hot and cold, and cold and hot, 

With the same breath, alternate; bent to please 

No matter at what cost, and carry off 

From all competitors the laurel crown. 

Yet great the gratitude I owe the youth, 

Nor ever without loud praise shall my lips 

Pronounce the name of Italy's greatest poet — 

Greatest in mine, as in the world's, opinion. 

Manners and men, and wondrous Nature's forms 

Diversified, he taught me, and, with love 

Of whatsoever 's lovely, filled my heart; 

And when, adventurous and scarce enough 

Counting the risks, I took in hand, first time. 

The poet's pen, his master hand on mine 

Laid kindly, and my trembling fingers steadied. 

Bidding me be of g6od cheer and remember 


That Labour was Skill's parent, and Success 

The child of Skill; and, with good-natured frown, 

Shaking his head when 1, mistrustingly, 

Muttered aside : — "Minerva non invita." 

But with severe, authoritative voice. 

My master's master, from the shade behind, 

Called to his brilliant, courtly, faithless pupil, 

Commanding to desist, nor with rose odours 

And concord of sweet sounds me too allure 

Into that wide, waste swamp, where, in the light 

Of Plato's flickering ignis -fatuus lamp, 

Good and 111 absolute, absolute Right and Wrong, 

Free chosen Virtue, and as free chosen Vice, 

Pains purgatorial, Tartarus and Elysium, 

Angels and ghosts and demons and great Gods 

Their sabbath celebrate, and, round and round, 

Wheel in inextricable morris dance 

Fantasmagorian, scarcely by the strong 

Beheld without vertigo, of the weak 

Subverting oft the reason, and of all 

The fair, erect front bowing to the dust 

Under the foot of priest and priest- made king. 

No word my teacher answered, nor with look 

Or action showed displeasure, but abashed 

Rose and retired, and left me with a new, 

More philosophical, less complacent master; 

Who to the open air forth by the hand 

Led me, and pointing to the vaulted heaven, 

And setting sun in glory, and red moon 

Opposite, full orbed, upon the ocean's rim : — 

"If, to make these, a hand divine were needed, 

To make that hand divine another hand 

Still more divine were by like reason, needed," 

Said solemn, and with eye intent on mine; 

"And if for these and other objects needed 

A hand creative, that creative hand 

Must of necessity have anteceded 

All objects, and by consequence all objects' 

Relations, first and principal of which 


Are time and space; but a creative hand 

Existent out of time and space — what is it? 

A mere non- entity and contradiction, 

A tortoise on whose strong shell to support 

The elephant whose back supports the world." 

He said, and by his candour won no less 

My heart, than by his argument, my reason ; 

And from that day forth I have lived with him, 

A loving, docile, and admiring pupil, 

And more for truth solicitous than to please, 

And wear the laurel — wreathe it round my bust. 

Posterity ! 'twill not corrupt me there. 

To Caro and his friends revolving years 

But bound me more, and from the world apart 

I lived with them a solitary's life. 

Commenting on, not mixing with, events; 

Flaccus most pleased me, and we laughed together. 

Long evenings, at Man's virtues and Man's vices, 

Madnesses, follies, vanities and whims. 

And profound wisdom measuring the stars, 

All relative, unreal, imaginary, 

Will - o' - the - Wisp lights, magic -lantern phantoms 

Illusory, fantastic, evanescent: 

And then he 'd take his lyre and, "Let us sing 

Venus," he 'd say, "and mirth and love and wine, 

And crown our heads with roses, and beside 

The fountain, in the plane tree's shadow sit 

And eat and drink and see Neaera dance 

And with Neaera chat the livelong evening; 

And happy live today — we die tomorrow." 

But suddenly a martial note, from far. 

Comes, on the mountain breeze borne; it 's the pibroch, 

Donald Dhu's pibroch, gathering Clan Connel ; 

I listen, but it dies away in distance. 

And from the opposite side burst on mine ear 

Shouts, and the beat of drums, and clang of battle. 

And I hear Marmion cry: — "On! Stanley, on!" 

And see his spouting blood stain Flodden Held; 


And Romance wooes rae, scarce unwilling, back 

From rules of art to Nature's stronger rules, 

And Castle Bluebeard and the Sleeping Beauty, 

And Branksome's nine and twenty knights of fame, 

And James Fitz- James and Roderick and the Graeme, 

And blast of other than the Douglas' horn 

To rowing Ellen cross the waters borne, 

And Risingham, his race of terror run, 

Red sinking rapid, like the tropic sun, 

And I go pilgrim by the pale moonlight 

To Melrose' mouldering pile, and see it right, 

When every buttress seems of ivory made 

Or ebon, in the alternate light and shade, 

And little think, in Dryburgh, where I stand 

Between the grass -grown tombs on either hand, 

I stand where in a few years shall be laid 

All that remains of Scott except the shade, 

The unsubstantial spirit of the verse, 

Which for a while survives the poet's hearse; 

Survives a while — with Man a while is long, 

And longest of Man's whiles the while of song. 

With fair, blue eyes, and handsome features grave, 

A close shaved puritan was next my master. 

And preached to me, long hours, of heaven and hell. 

And Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 

Brought death into the world, and all our woe — 

Child's fables, with no more foundation real 

Than Bluebeard's castle and the Sleeping Beauty, 

And Jack the Giant-killer's famed exploits, 

Yet preached with so much earnestness and zeal. 

And charm of numbers eloquent, and wit, 

And profound learning, that the lore sank deep. 

And took its place in my heart's core, beside 

Wandering Ulysses and the war of Troy, 

And hapless Dido's rage magnanimous, 

And whatsoe'er of sweetest, pagan bard 

Sang ever, with the help of all The Nine. 

J 67 

A drop serene the old man's visual ray 

Quenched premature, but only brighter shone 

His intellectual, and he never ceased 

Singing and teaching, oftener grave than gay, 

But always learned and musical and sweet; 

And I to listen ceased not, and to learn ^| 

New from him daily, oracle or myth, Tl 

Or apophthegm not easily erased ; 

Nor, when another master came in turn, 

Left I well pleased the old, blind puritan, 

But often to him stole at dead of night. 

Or earliest peep of dawn, to hear once more 

His voice divine, and glean new wisdom from him; 

Nor rarely has his venerable form 

Seemed to glide past, upbraiding, as I sat 

Low at my next succeeding master's feet. 

Joyous he was, my next succeeding master. 

And better knew than the severe old man 

The kidney of the world, and how to use 

His neighbours of mankind, not be used by them; 

And was a welcome visitor at courts, 

And hand and glove with princes, and had taught me, 

Had I but cared to learn, the ignoble art; 

Yet he could touch the lyre, and on the pipe 

Played so delicious airs I cared for nothing, 

Nothing else in the world, while he kept playing; 

But he knew not himself — who knows himself? — 

And chose the orchestra rather, and to tread 

Where Aeschylus with godlike step had trod, 

And threw about his shoulders the ill-fitting 

Pallium, and strutted up and down, applauded 

With clap of hands innumerous and shouts 

Of bravo! bravo! but I slunk away 

And could not be persuaded back to see him 

Travesty Satan, and would hear no more of him, 

Although they vowed and swore he was the same 

Had charmed my infancy with Werthcr's Sorrows, 

The very same to whom the whole day long 


1 listened still with ever new delight, 

As often as he sang of Dorothea. 

Portly his form ; Olympian Jove's, his brow, 

Capacious to admit all sorts of knowledge; ' 

But, on his lips of perfect symmetry. 

Voluptuousness enthroned sat, and within 

His deep, broad chest's enclosure, throbbed no heart. 

Faith he had none — how could he, being so wise? 

And Fame and Joy and Knowledge were his Gods. 

Death was to him long night, for although wise, 

He was not wise enough to know that night. 

Or long or short, comes only to the living. 

And that we don't in cold obstruction rot. 

But cease outright, and there 's no more of us 

— Either to rot or lie in cold obstruction — 

But we are as we were before our birth 

And those are now who shall come after us — 

As is enraged Pelides' sceptre now. 

As was enraged Pelides' sceptre ere 

Sown in the forest yet its parent stem. 

Contemporaneous, but at different hours, 
I had the lessons of a different master, 
Different in all respects, and yet the two 
Were friends, and lived in harmony together 
Till by the younger's premature death parted. 
And Goethe strewed with laurel Schiller's grave. 
Ingenuous, all ideal, visionary. 
Enthusiastic as an unspoiled child 
And of men's crooked ways as ignorant. 
Why kept not Schiller far away from courts ? 
Why not, since in his breast enshrined the gem. 
His back turned on the counterfeit, of honor: 
The title and the pension and the ribbon? — 
Trappings for Hooker, Larrey, Humboldt fit. 
Or any other hound of royal kennel, 
But not fit trappings for the bard of Marbach. 
I think I see him still — tall, slender, stooped, 
Long featured, flaxen haired, pale, melancholy, 


And full, to overflowing, of sweet faith 

In God and Man and what he was, himself, 

Of great and grand and beautiful, to do, 

And leave behind accomplished when he died, 

Whilst, all the while, went grinning at his side 

His wiser friend's friend, Mephistopheles, 

And, counting up his years, found that they might, 

At most and longest, reach to forty -six. 

John Hunter took me then, and led me with him 

Through hospitals and burying - grounds and schools, 

Where bones and nerves and muscles were my books, 

And Man himself — not Man's thoughts or Man's works, 

Or fair or foul or neither — all my study; 

And I anatomized with lancet point 

The seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling. 

Reasoning, comparing, and remembering substance; 

And sought in vain for boundary or mark 

Distinctive between Man and the brute beast. 

Instinct, alike, Avith life and moving passion: 

Hunger and thirst, aversion and desire, 

Pain, pleasure, fear, and hope, and jealousy, 

And gratitude — white blackbird ! — and audacious 

Courage, and anger dire, and desperation, 

And love of one's own progeny, little short 

Of adoration, and — supremest love, 

Motor and lever ■ — love of one's own self; 

And I held out the hand of brotherhood 

To every living thing, and less and less 

Cared for my nearest neighbour, more for all. 

John Hunter left and the dissecting room, 
I wandered forth into the open fields 
To breathe fresh air a while, and change the scene, 
And gathered flowers with Jussieu and Linnaeus; 
Into the mine, in search of ore, went down 
With Werner; climbed the mountain side. 
Hammer in hand, with Cuvier and Von Buch, 
Exploring craters, and the periods counting, 


Pliocene, Miocene, and Eocene, 

Of this great little speck of Earth, eternal; 

And swung myself — with Herschel, hand in hand, 

And Arago, — into the illimitable 

Ocean of space, whose grains of sand are worlds, 

AVhose stratified deposits, solar systems. 

Humboldt, acquainted here, had with me come, 

And proffered me the hand, but with my guides 

Content, I turned away and left him there 

To honor with the truth some chosen friend 

Special, and all the world besides deceive. * 

Expose me to wild Indians, tigers wild, 

War, famine, pestilence, or the raging sea, 

But, from the man whose words conceal his thoughts, 

Be merciful and save me, Fate supreme! 

So tutored, moulded, kneaded to such dough, 

How could I not impatiently receive 

The lessons of the exile of Ravenna — 

How sit and hear prelections on God's love. 

Hatred and jealousy and dire revenge. 

And skill unparalleled in the torturer's art; 

Or rise, and, by a blinder than myself 

Led by the hand, the tour, from cell to cell, 

Make, of the infernal penitentiary, 

Seeing such sights, hearing such sounds of woe, 

Smelling such smells, as never on the slopes 

Of Montfaucon, or at the charnel foot 

* "Ihr letztes mir sehr ehrenvolles Schreibeu enthielt Worte , die ich 
nicht missversteheii mochte. 'Sie gonnen sich kaum den Besitz meiner 
Impietaten.' Ueber solch Eigenthum niogen Sie nach meinem baldigen 
Hinscheiden walten uiid schalten. Wahrheit ist man im Leben nur denen 
schuldig, die man tief achtet, also Ihneu." Alexander von Humboldt an 
Varnhagen. (Brief vom 7. Dec. 1841.) 

The reader who has well meditated on these words, will be at no loss 
to understand how it happens that so many men of the clearest intellect 
and highest scientific attainments, pass, during their whole lives, for assen- 
tients to, if not actual champions of, that mass of superstitious opinions 
and observances, which, liowever difterent in different countries and at 
different epochs, is yet, in each particular country and at each particular 


Of the Gemonian Stair or Rock Tarpeian 

Or Ezzelin's gibbet, shocked onlooking Day, 

And filled the air with pestilence and horror? 

How was it not impossible for me, 

The pupil, although dull, of the Venusian, 

And, to the very lips, steeped in the lore 

That Heaven and Hell are but the brothel brood 

Of strumpet Folly to drunk father Fear, 

By Vanity adopted, nursed and reared. 

And, when adult, made over to Ambition 

To serve a purpose I must not even name — 

How was it not impossible for me. 

Whose very nursery's play -ground had been Rome, 

Whose coral bells and hobby-horse, old Cato, 

Scipio and Laelius and The Commonweal, 

Not to rebel indignant, and bar out 

My Ghibelline schoolmaster, when he set 

Hell's viceroy's bust before me, for my study. 

And bade me on that model make my hand? 

"The nether parts," said he, "thou need'st not work. 

Neither the satyr's tail, nor hoof of Pan ; 

In central ice imbedded to the waist. 

Let him project colossal, head and shoulders 

And broad chest to the navel, with three pair 

Of bat's wings, vast as windmill -sails, expanded, 

Fanning the ice and freezing all Cocytus. 

Three faces he must have, as in the model, 

To one sole head united Trinitarian, 

And turned, one forward, one to either side. 

Into the middle face's mouth put Judas, 

Head in, legs out; and so rebellious struggling 

That Satan's reddest face grows redder still, 

epoch, denominated The Fcaith, and properly and characteristically so de- 
nominated, if it were only that its very name may indicate the direct 
opposition in which it stands, not to philosophical induction alone, but to 
universal, every- day experience, and plain common sense. Ah, that moral 
Truth and scientific Truth are not oftener inhabitants of one and the same 
breast; that the man of science is so rarely not a hypocrite, the man of 
good morals so rarely not an ignoramus! J. H. 


And blood and slime, with silver pieces mixed, 
Come spewing forth, and clot upon his beard. 
Legs in, head out, let Cassius in his left 
And Brutus in his right mouth writhe convulsive. 
And with their traitor lungs shout : Liberty ! " 
I heard no more, but barred him out, indignant; 
And, looking through the keyhole, saw the wretch 
Go down between the ice and Lucifer's 
Sides hairy, making use of the stiff hair 
As a step-ladder, and, at every step. 
Muttering: — "This is the way, direct, to God." 

Rest in High Lever's burying - ground the bones 

Of one who thought this world could be made perfect 

By education, and, to make it perfect, 

In sad and sober earnest set about; 

As if perfection aught were but agreement, 

Or imperfection aught but disagreement. 

With a soi - disant, arbitrary rule ; 

As if the world, made perfect by John Locke, 

Were not sure to be found by William Locke 

A chaos, waiting only for his voice 

To start into harmonious life and action — 

Rest in High Lever's burying -ground the bones 

Of one whom I, a youth, loved as a youth 

Should love a teacher bent, at every risk, 

To teach what he believed the one sole right, 

Not a hired schoolman bound perforce to do 

Battle against all comers, for his bread. 

And much the good man suffered, and was driven 

From hearth and home an outcast, and his head 

In foreign lands hid, preaching there and teaching 

Undaunted, and his doctrines spreading wide ; 

And I, a youth, imbibed them and became 

Disciple of the pupil of Gassendi, 

And saw and felt, or thought I saw and felt 

— As even today, methinks I see and feel — 

The senses are of knowledge the sole inlet, 

The one sole inlet, for I went one step 


Beyond my master's furthest, and to Sense 
Assigned the parentage even of Reflection : 
Sense, great-grandfather, founder of the race; 
Reflection and her offspring, great-grandchildren. 
But though I honor, I had honored more 
The memory of my master, had he more 
Against the priestly goad recalcitrated. 
The priestly bridle snapped, and quite broke loose. 
And through the wide savanna galloped free ; 
And I had loved with more than double love 
The memory of my master, had his heart 
Been less entirely closed against the Muse; 
Less cold and deaf his ear, his eye less blind, 
To wondrous Nature's forms and hues and sounds; 
Less literal and prosaic, his whole being. 

Such were my youth's and early manhood's friends, 

My guides successive through the intricate 

Labyrinth of paths which toward the mountain tend 

On whose high summit inaccessible, 

Wrapt in eternal clouds and mists dwells Knowledge — 

Enchantress ! who her face so hides from all. 

Yet fills the world so with her beauty's praise. 

[Composed partly while walking along the Ligurian Riviera, Jan. 1861 ; 
partly while walking from Empoli to Altopascio, May 22, 1861; and 
partly in Leghorn, March and April 1862.] 



Roma, capitale d' Italia. 

lo God's protection leave the pope and Rome — 

Hariy the Eighth his bishops made at home; 

Do thou the same; about thee in a ring 

Gather thy Church, and be all out a king, 

The spiritual sceptre in thy right, 

In thy left hand the ball of temporal might, 

Upon thy head, the diadem; gare qui louche! 

Thou fain wouldst, but dar'st not — poor scaramouche! 

[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Febr. 21, 1862.] 

Hard to be pleased, who thinkest ill of Man, 
God's noblest work, the pearl of the creation I 

Small praise for God, whose noblest work is Man, 
Frail, at the best, and ignorant and mortal! 

Through his own fault; his Maker made him perfect. 

Praise, praise the God who made his noblest work 

So perfect that it went wrong of itself — 

Spoiled its own self, and foiled its Maker's purpose! 

At least, 'twas clever of it, thou must own. 

Why, yes ; or maybe God a little stupid ; 
' On either datum thou canst work the sum ; 

Man plus, God minus, to the same thing comes ; 

For, to bring Satan in, I own I 'm loth, 

Though we all know he 's able to cheat both. 
[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jan. 1, 1862.J 



OF FLORENCE , MARCH 18, 1862. 

What makes the Saint? The holiness, 

I Ve sometimes heard it said; 
But I insist it is the rays 

They paint about his head. 

You don't agree? then look at Christ, 

At Garibaldi look; 
Two pages never were more like, 

Of one and the same book. 

"But not both saints, you must allow." 

Both saints alike, I say; 
That, of the prayerbook and the beads; 

This, of the war array. 

Hurrah for both ! for him who says : — 

"Put up your swords and pray." 
And him who says : — " Out with your blades. 

And fight to Rome your way." 

Obey them both; your good blades draw, 

And fight to Rome your way; 
Rome is the place to count your beads, 

Rome is the place to pray. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, March 20, 1862.] 


!^HE died; that is, she ceased and was no more; 
Dry up your tears; ye weep for what? for nothing. 
I do ye wrong ; ye weep for your own selves : 
Weep on, weep on; ye have good cause to weep. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jan. 1862.] 

IHE dog his food takes from his master's hand, 
And loves him for it, and will die for him. 
Well for thee, if the man thy bounty feeds, 
With no worse than ingratitude repays thee. 
Does not conspire thine injury or ruin. 

[Casa Cartoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Febr. 11, 1862.J 

JN AT, don't be angry, friend ! have pity on them ; 
Cut them not so to the very bone ; have mercy ; 
See how they bleed and writhe, hear how they groan." 
Hold me not back; they 've not got half enough; 
Hold me not back , I say ; let go my arm ; 
I '11 flog them to within an inch of their lives. 
The foul, incorrigible necromancers. 
Who take the little harmless babe scarce born 
And mutter witchcraft over it, and criss-cross it, 
And rub their venomous oil behind its ears, 
And sprinkle drops upon it in the name 
Of their abominable three -headed idol, 

177 12 

Till they have made it more even than themselves 
The child of hell, an imp to do their biddings 
Wicked, as long as it lives, and when it dies 
Receive, for all reward, their pass to heaven. 
Let go my arm, I say, else thou art less 
Their friend, than Man's and thine own enemy; 
Let go, I say. Villains, take that and that 
And that — See how they scamper! Hah! ha! ha! — 
Off to your idol, now, for spermaceti. 
[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Febr. 23, 1862.] 

MAN'S choice is free." Ay, to be sure! 
Who doubts a fact so clear? 
But isn't his free choice fixed for him? 
That is the question here. 

"Pshaw! his free choice is free as air — 

Do you take me for a fool?" 
No, but I 'd like to know for what 

You send your child to school; 

For what, if not to fix his choice — 
To make him choose the right, 

And, of his own will, go your way 
When you are out of sight. 

"I don't succeed; my darling boy 

Chooses the wrong way still." 
Well! there 's some stronger cause at work, 

Makes his free choice choose ill: 

Bad nurse's milk, bad father's blood, 

Or, may be, bad grandsire's; 
Or bad example of your own. 

Or his playfellows, liars. 


To govern his free choice there 's still 
Some hidden impulse strong: 

Good impulse, when he chooses right; 
Bad, when he chooses wrong. 

Or, more exact to speak, there 'a no 

Such thing as choice at all. 
But, what 's the work of impulse, we 

The work of free choice call; 

Impulse commands; the work is done; 

We call it choice; some cause 
Preceded impulse, for all things 

Are fixed by Nature's laws. 

Links of a chain, an endless chain, 
And thou 'rt a link — no more — 

Attached as fast to the link behind 
As to the link before; 

And freely goest with the links, 

That pull thee to and fro ; 
Insensible it is their force. 

Which makes thee stand or go ; 

/ For all this whole world is a mesh 

Of chain -links intricate. 
By Providence, as some say, worked, 
As others say, by Fate. 

I know not; but of this I 'm sure: 

It 's all made of one piece, 
Not motley mongrel of fixed laws 

And Man's supreme caprice. 

[Casa Cabtoni, ai Cavallegoiebi, Leghorn, Febr. SB, 1862. 

179 12' 

All Inspiration from above descends: 
From God, or prince, or minister, or friends 
Of God or prince or minister. Some weight 
— I don't say, much, but some, at any rate — 
You must, if fair, allow to Inspiration, 
Which follows so the law of gravitation. 

[Casa Caktoni, ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, April 2, 1862.] 

Jl ATER quis est, die mi, sodes, 
Quisve avus est peccati? 
NuUus omnium quos adivi 
Satis scit responsum dare. 
"En! ego respondeo volens. 
Feras tu benign e meam 
Qualemcunque ignorantiam : 
Pater est peccati homo. 
Miser ille, qui peccavit; 
Avus autem ipse Deus, 
Peccatorem qui creavit." 
Peccatorem, monstrum illud 
Cur creavit bonus ille? 
"Heu ! nee novi nee audivi; 
Credo neque ipsum scire. 
Forsan ut glorificetur ; 
Multum laudis est amator. 
Neque vero nullam meruit 
Ille bonus, Justus ille, 
Cujus filius est peccator, 
Nepos cujus est peccatum. 



Deum, ergo, una omnes 
Senes, juvenes laudemus : 
« Sanctum Dei nomen omnes 

In perpetuum cantemus. 
Canta patrem, o peccator; 
Avum, peccatum, canta; 
Deum solum fontem mali, 
Deum unicum auctorem 
Mortis et miseriae nostrae 
Omnes juvenes senesque 
Uno ore celebremus. 
Gloria in excelsis Deo ! 
Hallelujah! hallelujah!" 

[HoRGEN on the Lake of ZiiRicn, July 1, 1862. 

What animal is it, gains by losing one 

Of its two component halves, yet by the loss 

Is made imperfect and must get it back 

Or remain always a mere fractional part, 

A bee's comb, one might say, without the cap, 

Naked, exposed to every wind and weather, 

A clock- or watch -work minus hands and dial, 

A ship's hull stripped of masts and sails and rudder, 

A torn out, silent, useless tongue of bell, 

A churndash without churn, a central sun 

Without even one poor planet to give light to? 

Walking from Dusslingek to Tubingen, Aug. 6, 1862.) 

Why has no eye beyond the tomb seen aught? 
Because beyond the tomb to see there 's nought. 
[Tubingen, Aug. 6, 1862.] 


(jOD made the world, there 's not a child but knows it, 

And not a flower, or blade of grass but shows it; 

But what made God himself does not appear, 

Unless — as old Lucretius says — 'twas Fear. 

Fear 's a great maker in a certain way. 

And sometimes works by night, sometimes by day; 

And, making ghosts by night, it sure were odd, 

If she could not in the broad day make God, 

Seeing that God 's a ghost, an airy sprite 

Easier to make than even the ghosts of night. 

For they have form and substance, liave been seen 

And touched and smelt, which God has never been; 

So Fear is free to make him as she will, 

And sometimes makes him well and sometimes ill; 

But always he 's Fear's making, let him be 

Allah or Jove or Christ, or Jan -Sam -He. 

[In the train from London to Holyhead, Sept. 15, 1862.] 


Where shall I go to when I die, Papa?" 
*'Bring me your slate — is that your name? Tom Phipps. 
There, rub it out; where is it now?" "No where." 
"When you are dead you '11 go to the same place, 
And I and all, for we '11 be all rubbed out." 

[KosAMOND, Rathoab Road, Dlblin, Oct. 1863. J 





In grateful memory of their well loved Swift, 
The Dubliners this statue raised to Moore. 


Whose smutty statue 's this? what smith's or sweep's? 
Stay, stay — all right; it 's Little Tommy Moore's. 


JLmmortal Little, round thy honored brow 
Erin's chaste daughters bind her shamrock green, 


And her brave sons doubt which most to admire, 
Thy statue, pension, or famed verse obscene. 

[Walking from Rosamond to Dalkey, Co. Dublin, Dec. 16, 1863.] 

A FAMOUS punster once said to a friend: 
"Friend Rock, upon thy rock I '11 build my house." 
The house was built, and, built upon a pun. 
Has till now lasted and will last until 
A wittier punster comes and pulls it down, 
And builds his new house upon like foundation. 
[Rosamond, Kathgar Road, Dublin, Aug. 22, 1863.] 


lis a dull circle that we tread, 
Just from the window to the bed; 
We eat, we drink, we sleep, and then 
We eat and drink and sleep, again." 
"And then? what then?" "To heaven we go. 
To eat and drink and sleep no mo', 
No mo' from window to the bed 
Or bed to window, but, instead. 
Idle and lounge about, all day, 
Except when we sing psalms, or pray: 
Idle, all night, and lounge about, 
And sing and pray, year in, year out. 
Which of the two dull circles be 
Dullest, I hope to hear from thee." 

[Walking: from Dalkey to Rosamond, Rathgar Road, Dublin, Nov. 12, 1862.] 

Ignorance is bllss, for first it saves the pain 
Of knowing how far wrong the road you go. 
And next it saves the greater pain of knowing 
There is a better way beyond your reach. 
Yet not even ignorance is perfect bliss, 
For while it teaches you to take for good 
Even your worst ill, it teaches you, same time, 
To shun, as your worst ill, your chiefest good. 
Not so entirely, then, to be disdained 
Thy hard won fruit, stingy Tree of knowledge; 
Nor so without a canker, thy rich crop. 
Indigenous, luxuriant Ignorance. 

[Rosamond, Rathgar Road, Dublin, Nov. 30, 1862.] 



A MAN of sterling sense and quick decision, 

And royal, not to be controlled volition, 

Prince Albert gave the slip to his physician, 

And started off to see the Exhibition 

Got up in heaven for ghosts of high condition, 

And have a finger in it, with permission 

Of archangelic, managing commission. 

If he comes back — a thing that 's problematic — 

What may we not expect of achromatic 

Telescopes, and inventions hydrostatic 

For floating iron-clads, and diplomatic 

Ruses, celestial half and half Teutonic, 

To out -ruse our dear ally Napoleonic? 

And if he doesn't, why then the resignation 

Comes into play, of the great Irish nation. 

And we '11 appoint a day for humiliation. 

And lowliness before God, and prostration. 

And, clear with Heaven, beg Stephen's Green Commissioners 

To hear the humble prayer of their petitioners, 

And grant a site for statue to his glory 

Who neither right Whig was, nor yet right I'ory, 

But between both went steadily a -rowing, 

And over English, Scotch, and Irish crowing 

Deep in his heart, for though one now crows never 

Above one's breath, one crows as deep as ever, 

And princes deepest, for your princes' bosoms 

As deep are as Ahithophel's or Uzzum's 

Or Palmerston's — and that 's as any well deep, 

Or Newcastle coal-pit, or lowest Hell, deep. 

[Rosamond, Rathgab Road, Dublin, March 31, 1864.] 


IWO Hands there are that shuflie all the cards: 

Sir Right Hand trump holds, and would win the game 

But for the greater cunning, of* Sir Left, 

And sharper sight which reads Sir Right Hand's cards, 

Though turned their backs, as clearly as his own. 

Ah, poor Sir Right Hand! how he grumbles, swears. 

Curses and sweats, while Mephistopheles, 

Bowing and simpering, pockets all the stakes. 

[Walking from Rosamond to Dalkey (Co. Dublin), Nov, 14, 1862.] 


Unhappy man! a little wiser than 

And of course persecuted by thy fellows, 

Like the poor turkey with a patch on its head, 

That 's pecked and pecked, and round the farmyard hunted 

Till it drops down and dies — and there 's an end to it. 

Hide, hide, my friend, hide, hide, if thou art wise, 

Thy little patch of wisdom, if thou 'st any, 

Or, better still, put on a patch of folly 

Or wickedness, and be be-statued like 

Profligate Moore and thriftless, silly Goldsmith. 

Nothing men like so much as a touch of vice. 

Unless it be a good, large dash of folly. 

Thou 'st writ no brothel verses, never been 

The common laughing-stock of thy acquaintance; 

Thou hast not died four thousand pounds in debt. 

Nor hadst thy debts paid by a royal pension ; 

What chance hast thou, thy fellow citizens 

Will set thee up, example to their children, 

And, on thy togaed statue's marble plinth. 

Inscribe thy virtues, years, and glorious name? 

[Walking from Kosamond to Ballin as corny (Co. Dublin), Nov. 29, 1863. 



viuiCK drop your money in; 
It saveth from all sin; 
Past, present, future time 
ft purifieth from crime, 
And souls from Limbo frees — 
Your money, if you please; 
Father's, mother's soul. 
It buys out sound and whole, 
And of your babes as many 
As you drop in a penny. 
I '11 hear of no excuse; 
What interest or what use 
Than this is more secure. 
Or better for the poor? 
For it 's to God you lend, 
And God 's the poor man's friend, 
And for the money lent 
Still pays back cent per cent. 
John Tetzel is my name ; 
You 've heard of me by fame; 
From the Vatican I come. 
And seven -hilled city, Rome. 
Indulgences I bring, 
— Let me hear your money ring - 
Indulgences to sin ; 
In with your money, in. 
To you, his faithful friends. 
The Holy Father sends 
Me with these boxes two, 
Both blessed and criss-crossed new. 


Of Indulgences one 's full 

As a pincushion 's of wool. 

Out of its side thej pop, 

As fast as in you drop, 

Into the hole at top 

Of the other box, your pence. 

Showing your penitence, 

Contrition and sound sense 

And devotion to God's Cause 

And Holy Church's laws. 

Come with your money, come, 

Children beloved of Rome; 

Who would not a groat pay 

To save his soul one day 

From purgatorial fire? 

Call John Tetzel liar 

If the Holy Father cares 

For your money or your prayers; 

Your money, it 's but trash. 

Tinkling cymbals your hard cash, 

But of your soul he thinks 

Every time your money clinks, 

And every groat you pay, 

A day shorter you shall stay 

In penitential fire, 

A step to heaven you Ve nigher. 

See in this paper here, 

Where it 's written fair and clear : 

"Indulgence full and free, 

Absolution plenary — 

Past, present, future time, 

Permission for all crime." 

Quick drop your money in. 

And enjoy the venial sin; 

You may take your neighbour's life, 

You may sleep with neighbour's wife, 

You may leave your debts unpaid, 

You may cheat at cards or trade, 



For God is over all, 
Can order and recall, 
Can make and unmake sin, 
— Quick drop your money in — 
And the Holy Father, he 
Is of God the nominee, 
Sole dispenser of God's grace, 
And fills of God the place, 
Sole judge of wrong and right. 
Sole possessor of God's mi.2;ht 
, To punish and acquit. 
And do as he thinks fit. 
Be faithful, firm, and true 
To Church and Pope, and who 
Can one hair injure you? 
Church is a union strong 
To shield you from all wrong: 
Against all scathes and harms, 
Against Hell's wiles and charms, 
Against a world in arms, 
The Church maintains your rights; 
The Church protests and fights ; 
The Pope 's the Church's head; 
God's vicar in God's stead. 
Never will Pope or Church 
Leave the faithful in the lurch — 
In with your money, in; 
It cleanseth from all sin. 
For the faithful what 's to dread. 
When the standard 's for them spread 
Of God and Church and Pope? 
Of sand they twist a rope 
Who gtrive against the Pope. 
Away with fear and doubt; 
See, I draw the Indulgence out, 

[da capo.] 

[Dalkey Lodge, Dalkey (Co. Dublin), Jan. 27, 1864.] 


All 's wise and good, they say, and of design ; 
Imprimis cholera and the Lisbon earthquake, 
The St. Bartholomew, the Sicilian Vespers, 
And Waterloo's red field, and Solferino, 
And the down -going, headlong, in the sea 
With every living soul, of the Aurora, 
And President, not even a rat escaping, 
Nor Richmond's Duke, more worth than many rats: 
All good and wise and of design, they say 
Who better understand, than I, such matters; 
Yet, not the less, eschew, as they would Satan, 
All personal acquaintance with such proofs 
Potent, of goodness, wisdom, and design. 

[Walking from Dai.key to Rosamond, Nov. 15, 18f)2.| 

"Esse aliquos Mauos ct subterranea rogna, 

Et contura, et Stygio ranas in gurgite nigras, 

Atque una transire vadum tot millia cymba 

Nee pueri crcdunt, nisi qui nondum aere lavantur, 

Sed tu vera puta." 

JovEN. ij. 149. 

JlIow much we have improved, let Juvenal say, 
Upon the popular credence of his day, 
We, who believe in Manes and the Devil 
And a post mortem judge of good and evil, 
And souls, that not one rag of flesh have on, 
Made rashers of, in Pyriphlegethon. 

[Rosamond, Rathoae Road, Dublin, 1863 or 1864.] 




Xhe Dubliners, between the eccentric dean, 

Long hesitating, and the libertine. 

Decided for the libertine at last. 

And so arose the statue thou here hast. 

Very like neither, thou mayst well suppose, 

In feature, air, or attitude or clothes. 

But yet so smutty 'twill for either do. 

And of the urinal improves the view. 

Shouldst thou, kind stranger, on some future day 

Happen to take this statue on thy way. 

And have a pair of pantaloons to spare. 

Look on these bdre shanks, think of Christmas air. 

And how thou 'dst feel thyself in Scottish kilt 

And Roman pallium loose, not even gilt — 

I '11 say no more - sapienti verbum sat, 

Goodnatured Oliver will translate you that, 

For he too has a statue, clever Noll, 

Almost inside the gate of Trinity Coll, 

Not quite inside — why should he more than I, 

Of lore scholastic both of us so shy? 

Yet not so very shy as not to know 

What way the aurae populares blow. 

And how to mount on ignorance to fame, 

Honor and statue and a poet's name. 

[Walkinsr from Dalkey to Roramokd, Jan. 25, 1864.] 



Uf all numbers, number three 
Is the one best pleases me: 
Number one 's so very small, 
You may count it none at all. 
To nonentity next door; 
Number two is but one more, 
And to mind still brings the strife, 
Ever waits on wedded life; 
Hounds in couples, sad and slow. 
Pulling different ways, they go, 
One and one linked in a pair — 
Of the fatal noose beware, 
Thou who hast thy liberty. 
Whether thou be he or she. 

Four 's two twos, so twice as bad 
As single two. The man is mad 
Who doesn't at once perceive that three 
Seasons than four would better be. 
And without winter, frost, and ice. 
Our earth , a little paradise ; 
Cuckoos and swallows, all year round, 
And gay with buttercups the groUnd. 
Mad he is, I say, nor he 
Wiser much, who doesn't agree 
That bad as were triumvirs three, 
For Rome's Commonwealth a curse. 
Four triumvirs had been worse — 


If I may so, without offence 
To grammar or to accidence, 
Indulge my humor in a freak, 
And of four triumvirs speak. 

Five comes next; what man alive 
Ever good word spoke of five? 
Five, it was, made the cabal 
Of Arlington and Lauderdale, 
Clifford and Vil Buckingham, 
And Ashley, royal Charles's Pam; 
Little better Pam, I ween, 
Than the Pam of our dear queen, 
Who, as long as Nap 's his friend, 
Has small chance his ways to mend. 

Six and seven partake of ill. 

From my youth up, I 've thought still; 

For, on the earth as in the heavens, 

Things at sixes and at sevens 

Never were, or could be, right 

In man's or God's or angel's sight. 

Never, upon no pretence. 
While I have one grain of sense. 
Shall I, of free will, incline 
To praise either eight or nine, 
Numbers both of Satan's own, 
Underminers of the throne, 
Foes of all that 's good and great, 
Of the church and of the state, 
Forerunners of the noyades, 
Guillotines and fusillades. , 

So I turn to number three; 
Three 's the number pleases me; 
I loved always trinity, 
Since I first went to the College 
Of the Trinity for knowledge : 

193 13 

There I learned tlie Fates were three, 

Th' Hesperides and Graces three, 

And how in three choirs, of three 

Blithe sisters each, linked lovingly, 

Jove's daughters by Mnemosyne 

Went roving on Apollo's hill. 

And chanted till they had their fill. 

Old friends of mine, those choirs of three 

Blithe sisters each, and many a glee 

I have sung with them, and they with me, 

Since first I met them in the shade 

Of the bay and laurel glade. 

The steep mountain side upon, 

Of the sunny Helicon, 

Where the waters sprang to meet 

And kiss the winged courser's feet. 

And still, at times, of three we sing, 

On three, at times, the changes ring: 

How Neptune, Jove and Dis the wide 

World into three shares divide; 

How Dian, Hecate, Proserpine 

Faces three in one combine ; 

How, with triple mouth and yell, 

Porter Cerberus, in his cell, 

Hades' entrance guarded well; 

All let in, but such a rout 

Made if one tried to slip out, 

That the echo and rebound 

Of the brazen concave round, 

Jove's own rattling thunders drowned, 

As the frighted ghost slunk back. 

Like a flogged hound to his ^SLck. 

Three persons of the verb with three 
Pronouns personal agree; 
And, though but sexes two are known. 
There are three genders, all must own, 
Or much good schooling has been lost, 
Much teachers' pains and parents' cost. 


Good accountant if you 'd be, 
You must count by Rule of Three; 
Just comparisons to make, 
Three degrees you still must take; 
Three degrees, to be your guides, 
Priscian to your hand provides : 
Bad , worse, worst ; good , better, best ; 
Many, more, most, and all the rest; 
Never let them out of sight 
And they ' '11 lead you always right. 

Aristotle taught the schools 
Many wise and useful rules, 
But one rule 's worth all the rest, 
That with three you argue best. 
And that prostrate to lay schism. 
There 's no sword like syllogism. 

Ah ! no friend of Erin he 

Who loves not her shamrock's three 

Green leaves indivisible 

As the famous Gordian spell. 

Patriotism and loyalty 

With religion make up three; 

Church and throne and state are three, 

One undivided trirarchy. 

Learned professions there are three, 

Medicine, law, divinity, 

Guardians of the items three, 

Body, soul, and property, 

Constituent of Man's entity; 

For, of opinion though some be 

That soul alone makes entity, 

I 'm not of those who care to see. 

Still less of those who long to be, 

Soul in a state of nudity; 

A naked soul to me is a fright, 

195 13* 

Especially at dead of niglit 

When dimly burns the candle light, 

And all is still, or fast asleep — 

The very thought makes my flesh creep, 

Even Dian's self 's afraid to peep. 

I love my friend and wish him well, 

Wish him long years in health to tell. 

Well housed, well clad, and with a purse 

Worthy of the Preacher's curse; 

I like to see his smiling face 

And hold him in mine arms' embrace. 

To hear his voice and clasp his hand, 

Beside him sit, beside him stand. 

Alongside walk in cheerful chat, 

Of this discoursing and of that, 

But I would have him my friend whole, 

Not my friend's disembodied soul, 

Not my friend's ghost, and spirit thin, 

Nothing outside and less within — 

Be off, be off to Charon's coast 

And poets' dreams, poor, silly ghost 

And naked soul, mere idle boast 

And vain pretence, nonentity 

And meaningless absurdity — 

Thou enterest not into my creed ; 

Begone; leave me at peace; God speed! 

Poets unequaled there were three. 
One born in Greece, in Italy 
His greater born, the greatest he 
Who drew in Albion's fog his breath, 
And sang of paradise and death. 

Unrivaled actors there were three, 
Charmers of my infancy. 
Whether Othello's rage were played, 
Or Juliet's love, or with the shade 
Of murdered sire held colloquy, 
I hung enraptured on the three, 


Awed by John Kemble, by O'Neill 

Enchanted and by Cooke turned pale. 

Nor at an end was my delight 

When fell the curtain; all the night 

I raved of tournament and fight, 

Palfrey and squire and belted knight, 

And airy daggers motioning 

Toward the couch of sleeping king, 

And "out, damned spot!" and medicine vain 

To purge the blood spot from the brain. 

Earth and heaven and hell are three, 

Each on each hanging mutually, 

And each of each a corollary: 

For other worlds although there be, 

Countless as sandgrains in the sea, 

Yet with the wise majority, 

— Christian, Jew, Pagan — I agree 

To set them down as nullity; 

As nullity, or, at the best, 

Made to point the Atheist jest: 

How from Olympus' heights rules Jove 

Countless worlds those heights above? 

Who, while Jove lies in Danae's arms, 

Those countless worlds preserves from harms, 

Above Jove's highest lightning's fling. 

Above Jove's boldest eagle's wing, 

Guards nationalities oppressed 

And orders all things for the best? 

'Twas three o'clock precise, each day 
Of eight long years that slow away 
Rolled o'er my helpless infancy, 
Came and with kind hand set me tree 
From grammar fetters and the rule 
Of the stern despot of the school. 
And home I bounded full of joy, 
A happy, thriving, chubby boy. 


To be caressed by parents dear, 

Till fatal nine, next day, drew near. 

And I must to my cell again 

And wear again the captive's chain. 

Till friendly three should come once more- 

And open throw my prison door. 

Those days are gone not to return, 

My parents long lie in their urn, 

Yet never three chimes on mine ear 

But I seem Freedom's voice to hear. 

Youth's scenes come back, youth's joys and cares 

How changed the face all nature wears! 

The old man's heart swells, and a tear — 

But no! I would not have them here. 

There 's never a royal diadem 
Boasts not of some superior gem, 
Some ruby red, some emerald green, 
Some diamond's ever varying sheen, 
Some pearl of price, some chrysolite^ 
Some opal pale, some malachite, 
But brighter far the gems that round 
Royal Victoria's brow are bound. 
Redder than ruby there the rose 
Of England in its full bloom glows, 
Greener than emerald, there, the green 
Shamrock of Erin creeps between 
The English emblem and the blue 
Thistle of Scotland, rough as true. 
Fair the three bloom and fair the three 
Under the garter's scroll agree: 
God of my right 's the sure defence. 
honni soit qui mal y pense. 

Out of the East came wise kings three 

To Bethlehem, a babe to see 

Wiser than were themselves all three, 

A unit of the Trinity, 

High and inscrutable mystery! 

Low in the dust on bended knee 

They offered up, those wise kings three, 

Their triple gifts and fealty. 

Poor are my gifts, my fealty 

Adds nothing to thy dignity, 

I 'm-rich but in humility 

And that I offer all to thee, 

Incomprehensible Trinity. 

Ave Maria, night and morn, 

And the Angelus the day adorn 

With triple worship, triple prayer; 

Thrice the brow 's crossed and thrice laid bare 

The heart before the deity — 

"Domine ! miserere mei." 

But what more than all moves me 
To the preference I give three, 
Is the still fresh memory 
That in old times we were three, 
Thou, my child, and I, and she 
Who made up our household three. 

[Begun on footjourney from Leghorn to Lobenstein (Furstenthum Reuss), 
in the summer of 1801 ; finished wliile walking from Turin to Florence. 
Sept. 18^4.] 

iHE saying can't be too oft repeated: 
The world consists of cheats and cheated. 


i 'M in this faith a firm believer: 
Who 's not deceived is a deceiver. 
[Florence, Octob. 30, 1864.1 



Uprisen at four, after a restless night, 

— We are always restless on tlie eve of travel, 

Sorry to break up old associations. 

And, of the new, distrustful and ill-boding — 

Our first care, after toilette made, is our breakfast. 

Frugal as usual, and oft interrupted 

By various cares prelusive of the road : 

In primis, manufacturing for our shoes 

In -soles of folded paper; in secundis, 

Re - reconnoitering umbrellas, wallets. 

Guide-books and pocket-books and purse of gold. 

And pocket compass and thermometer. 

All reconnoitred well the night before 

And set in order, ready for the morning. 

Grapes and fresh figs and Gorgonzola cheese 

And bread and capue make no bad breakfast, 

And, overnight prepared, stand ready for you, 

Whether you choose to rise before the lark, 

Or lie abed till Sol, his day's work done, 

Hands the world over to his pale -cheeked sister. 

And goes, himself, to rest behind the Azores. 

To the spedizioniere, then. 

Consigned for Rome our baggage, two hours' work, 

Only at last at ten we are on the road, 

Winding from Florence up the vale of Amo, 

On our left hand the chain bridge, on our right 

San Miniato from the cypress hill 

Down-looking on the city fair and river 

And, opposite, to Fiesole and the far. 

Misty, rain - threatening mountains of Pistoja, 


Where just three weeks ago, this very day, 
Upon our hither way we visited, 
And after greeting brief bade long adieu 
To our old Irish friend, Grace-Bartolini, 
Daughter of Irish Grace my father's friend, 
From her youth up by choice of domicile. 
And for the four last years by wedding vow, 
Italianissima among Italians. 

Pleasant to leave behind the noisy streets 

And narrow, crowded thoroughfares of Florence, 

And the ear-stunning cry of ^'vuole? vuole?" 

And "tre alia palanca!" and to snuff 

Pure air again, and see the sky though lowering. 

And swing our arms, and feel our legs untied. 

Churches and convents either side the road. 

And long, stone walls between; these to keep out 

The evil-doer, those within the bounds 

Of holy mother Church to keep the mind, 

No less here than in England apt to boast 

Of its strong reason clear, and power of will, 

And no whit less here than in England, bound 

Helpless and hopeless with religion's chain; ^ 

Less grimly here however, for sweet roses 

And manna-dropping foliage intertwine, 

And take the shivering, sharp cold off, the iron. 

And now we have left behind the long, stone walls 

— The churches not yet, nor are likely ever — 

And up the hill push from the Arno valley, 

Taking the shorter way by San Donato, 

To meet the stream descending from Incisa, 

And spare the roundabout by Pontassieve. 

Beautiful, Florence, as we look behind, 

Its massy dome, and stately ducal tower 

And, in church architecture never rivaled, 

Giotto, thy campanile. Wide the eye 

Over the valley of the Arno ranges , 

Over long lapsed years wider still the mind: 


And now it 's airy Guelphs and Ghibellines, 

Now spectral popes and emperors we see, 

Now visioned Maccliiavellis, Medicis, 

Or Dante's pale, unconquerable spirit, 

Or Savonarola's; and Da Fiesole 

Sits in his cowl there in San Marco's cloister, 

Painting in silence his imaginations 

Of an imagined heaven's beatitude: / 

Angels with delicate, small hands and feet 

And beardless, feminine faces, and as like, 

Each to the other, as so many sisters, 

In gold-bespangled skirts, blue, red or yellow, 

Gold-crowned, gold-winged, to lute and flute and viol 

And dulcimer and harp the praises singing 

Of an ideal, unsubstantial God, 

Who sees, hears, smells, thinks, loves, admires, and hates. 

Makes and unmakes, remembers and forgets, 

Prefers, postpones, rejects, goes slow and fast. 

Is pleased and displeased, smiles, frowns, blesses, curses, 

And does in all things like substantial man. 

His own most erring, most imperfect work, 

Cast off by him accordingly and hated. 

Killed, and to hell condemned, and then again 

Pitied, forgiven and coaxed, and up to heaven 

Carried on angels' wings, to dwell for ever 

With him in glory and his praises sing. 

Still green the hedges, and the air still soft. 
Though in the murky sky November frown, 
And mindful churchbells, since two hours ere day, 
Have not ceased telling us it 's All Souls' morrow. 
The roadside bushes burn with Pyracanth's 
Ked glowing clusters, dog-rose berries red. 
And the pink capsules of Evonymus 
Opening and showing its red ariled seeds, 
*'Each in its narrow cell laid" — not "for ever." 

JJC 5fS ^ "J* *JC 

Leaving Florbnck for Rome, Nov. 1, 1864. 


W HAT ! Man no more than a mere reasoning beast 
Which laughs, smokes, curses, swears, and pays the priest, 
More than most other beasts his brother cheats, 
Tortures and kills, and — who disputes it? — eats! 

Degrade him not ; his acts proclaim his birth : 
Angel and heir of heaven, not son of earth; 
A spark cast off from the eternal flame. 
And differing from the godhead but in name. 

[Albergo dell' Aquila Nera, Montefiascone (Stati Pontificii), Nov. 8, 1864. 1 

r EAR 's a great maker : first she made the Devil, 
And worshiped low the author of all evil; 
Then she made God, the better still to keep 
The Devil off and get a good, sound sleep. 

[Rome, Via delle Quattro Fontane, Dec. 23, 1864.] 


-De moderate in all things, and, of all, 

In moderation most be moderate, 

For, for what else but use in proper season 

Thine every-obstacle-o'ercoming passion. 

Love, jealousy and wrath, hope, hate and fear? 

For what the extreme, high culminating impulse 

For what in man or beast, but to be used? 

Nature made nought in vain, and least in vain, 


Be it of hope, fear, ire, or hate, or love 

Or jealousy, the culminating impulse. 

The extreme extreme. The world has verge enough; 

The power to be immoderate implies 

There 's time and place to be immoderate. 

Nor made not to be used the extreme extreme, 

High towering, overtopping point of passion. 

^Twas not by moderation Caesar rose. 

Or Brutus fell, or Christ and Mahomet 

The world's opima spolia shared between them. 

Be moderate as the bee and as the ant, 

Be moderate as the lion and the tiger. 

Be moderate as the race-horse; as the shaft 

Shot from the bow flies moderate to the mark, 

As from the zenith moderate swoops the falcon, 

On to the goal press moderate thou with Paul, 

Not looking once behind thee; moderate press 

Forward in season, out of season forward, 

And only at the goal and ocean's edge 

Arrived, with Philip's son, sit down and weep. 

[Walking from Spoleto to Foligno, June 28, 1865. j 


LAGO TRASIMENO, Jlllj 1, 1865. 

Which side shall conquer? Both sides have the riglit, 
And God 's for both sides. Which shall win the flght? 
Strike out from both sides God, from both sides right, 
— Why should God fight with God, or right witli right? - 
And that side 's victor, sure, which has the might. 

Set God back on the field and set back right, 
And to it again; which now shall win the fight? 
God 's neutralized by God, and right by right. 
And that side 's victor, sure, which has the might. 


JDEHOLD in Christ the sober, matron hen, 

Gathering beneath her wings her cowering brood; 

In Mahomet behold the dunghill king, 

Leading his brood to conquest and to battle. 

"Cluck-cluck! cluck-cluck!" dame hen cries; "cluck! cluck! cluck!'* 

"Tantararara-ra!" crows loud sir cock. 

[Walking from Monte Carelli (Tuscany), to Filigare, July 18, 1865 ^ 


UuR coffee boils; our hostess at the lire 
Suckles her baby scarce a fortnight old, 
Watching, -same time, the moment to pour off 
Into the glass the soot-black beverage 
Restorative, while we the minutes count 
Impatient, and the sweat wipe from our brows, 
For the sun 's high in Leo and we have walked^ 
Over the bare and rugged Apennine, 
Up hill full five miles since we saw him rise 
This morning on our last night's baiting quarters, 
Monte Carelli, first day's climb from Florence. 
Seated upon the hearth, the second child 
Whinges incessant, or, from time to time, 
Is pacified with lump of broken sugar, 
As, with the dug, the infant in the arms ; 
Never without the whinge of one or other 
Quiet the kitchen for one single instant. 
Beside the door the father whiffs his pipe, 
And spits, alternate, out across the sill. 


Our coffee 's drunk, our hostess paid her crazie, 
And so we separate, not to meet again 
Till we meet there, at last, to live content, 
Where there is neither dug nor sugar lump, 
Nor pipe nor crazie nor drop of coffee. 
Quod bonum sit faustumque, Domine meus! 

[Walking from La Futa to Bologna, July 18 and 10, 1865.] 

What for, two Gods? why doubled the expense? 

One God 's enough, sure, for a man of sense; 

And let that one God be the evil one. 

To do the good God's work as well as his own. 

There 's little fear he '11 find more work to do 

Than he has always been accustomed to, 

The amount of good 's a minimum at best — 

Who does the evil well m.ay do the rest 

For ,pastime sake and sweet variety, ^ 

And from one useless sinecure set us free. 

[Walking from Pellegkina to Verona, July 23, 1865.] 


In Freedomtown two barbers won, 
With razors sharp and clean; 

One shaves the right cheek, one the left. 
While thou sitt'st still between. 

And budgest not, nor utterest sound. 
Nor seem'st to feel one tittle, 

Though now and then red blood be drawn. 
And scarfskin razed a little. 


Church of one barber is the name, 
The other's name is State; 

In Freedomtown those barbers twain 
Shave early and shave late. 

"By grace of God and right divine" 

— I 'm reading from the scroll, 
Which, with the basin, at the door 

Hangs dangling from the pole — 

"By grace of God and right divine 

— Let none the right contest - 
All cheeks are ours in Freedomtown, 

To shave as we like best." 

Hurrah for those two barbers bold! 

Hurrah for Freedomto >vn ! 
Nowhere I 'd rather live than where 

Not even one's beard 's one's own. 
[RivA Di San Lorenzo, Veuona, July 30, 1865. 

"Sua si boua noriiit." 

llAPPY the man who has neither wife nor child! 
Not freer life the deer's in forest wild; 
He has none to flout him when he comes home late, 
And leaves to whom he likes best, his estate. 


Happy the man who has neither house nor land ! 
Fewer, his insolent menials to command. 
He '11 not be ruined by a roguish steward. 
Nor need he keep his premises insured. 

Happy the man who has an empty purse! 
Let things go as they will, he can't be worse 
Unless he goes in debt, and that he '11 find 
Difficult, whilst his purse remains unlined. 


Happy the man who 's to be hanged tomorrow! 
H^ has but one day, thou long years of sorrow; 
He '11 in the dark sleep sound tomorrow night 
Whilst thou start'st at each noise and burn'st a light. 

[RivA Di San Lorenzo, Verona, Aug. 1, 1865.] 


Inscribed on the inn in Abfalterbach, Tirol. * 

UoD bless this house, 
Both man and mouse^ 

And young and old. 
Pigsty and pig, 
And hat and wig, 

Silver and gold. 

God bless the ass, 

God bless the mas- 
ter and mistress, 

God bless their store. 

And make it more, , 
And never less. 

'^ Such devout inscriptions on houses are of frequent occurrence both 
in Tirol and Austria. Since this poem was written I have met the fol- 
lowinjif «on a house in Wolfern near Linz in Austria: 



God bless the cow, 
The calf, the yowe, 

And wrinkled aunt, 
And give the churn 
Another turn, 

When butter 's scant. 

God bless the mill, 
God bless the pill. 

And make both do, 
Year in, year out. 
In rain and drought, 

Their duty true. 

God bless the cat, 
God bless the brat 

And hussey lass, 
God bless the salt, 
God bless the malt 

And foaming glass. 

God bless this house. 
Both man and mouse 

And but and ben. 
And let all sing 
^'God save the king!" 

Amen , amen ! 

^ It 's not enough. 

God bless the snuff- 

-box and dudeen, 
God bless the state 
I And make it great, 

God bless the queen. 

jWalkiiig from Abfai.tkrbach to Lienz (Tirot.), Aug. 28, 18b5. 

■209 14 



JclusH, my babe, lie still and slumber; 
Holy angels guard thy bed, 
Heavenly blessings, without number, 
Gently falling on thy head," 

None so heavy as to break it — 

Hush, my babe, and nothing fear; 

God thy little soul won't take yet. 

Still a while will leave thee here; 

Here to struggle and to scramble 

Through the world as thou mayst best. 

Torn by rose and torn by bramble — 
Hush, my babe, and take thy rest. 

Don't, my babe, don't make wry faces, 

Keep them for the teething fit, 
That first blessing Heaven 's to seud thee, 

If thou liv'st to eat a bit. 

That 's my good babe! now thou 'rt quiet, 
I can hardly hear thy breath — 

Wit]i my h^3art's blood I would buy it, 
l^hou might'st so sleep on till death. 

Nothing seeing, nothing hearing, 

Of the blessings Heaven lets fall 

Be they light or be they heavy. 
So thou best escap'st them all : 


Nothing seeing, nothing hearing, 
Of the angels round thy bed, 

Or how much it is, or little. 

Guardian angels stand in stead. 

Ah ! my child , might'st thou but sleep so 
Till thou drewest thy latest breath, 

Thy sad mother need not weep so, 
Or 60 hate the thought of death, 

Death, the grand finale blessing, 

Heaven upon all heads lets fall 5 

Let thy mother feel it double, 
So thou feel'st it not at all; 

So thou 'rt spared the pang of parting 
From thy nearest, dearest friend. 

Whether thou 'rt left here to mourn her, 
Or she 's left to mourn thine end. 

Might we but together sleep out 
Our brief night's existence frail, 

Not be wakened up ere midnight, 
Each to hear the other's wail, 

When the scythe - armed guardian angel 
Separates the locked embrace. 

And one 's left to mourn the other's 
Ever fresh remembered face! 

Sleep on, babe, ere thou hast learned yet 
How like sleep is unto death; 

Sleep on^ babe, ere thou hast felt yet 
How life shortens with each breath: 

Sleep on soundly ere the dreams come, 
Which disturb the soundest sleep ; 

Sleep on soundly ere the tears come, 
Thou must, if thou livest, weep. 

211 14 

Sleep, my babe, on; wake not up yet 

The forbidden fruit to eat; 
Good and evil both are bitter, 

Life itself 's a bitter sweet. 

[Walking from Villnoss to Kirchbach in the Gailthal, Tirol, Aug. 25 to 
Sept. 1, 1865.] 

J. WAS a mower a -mowing stood under a tree, 
And with his sharp scythe he mowed down three 
Tall, ugly, rough thistles which stood in his way. 
"What the names of those thistles were, tell me, I pray." 

The first of those thistles, they called him Mastai; 
He was mowed down the first, because most in the way. 
The second, they called him Napoleon Louis; 
If ever a thistle was thistly, 'twas he: 

He was mowed down the second and laid by his friend, 
And PoTES and Non Possumus came to one end. 
The third and last thistle, Vittorio was called, 
A sinister curlpate inclining to bald. 

So ill-favored, no ass would one leaf of him chew; 
But the scythe cared as little as I care or you. 
And cut him off short, and he fell by the board, 
And in the one dung -heap the whole three lie stored; 

I passed by today, as I came from the bank, 
But I held my nose close, for, behold you ! they stank. 
Three as ugly, rough thistles now stand in their place. 
For prolific was always the great thistle race. 

[Walking from Volzana to Canale (Illyrian Kijstknland), Sept. 6, 1865.] 


"NuUis iuclusit limina portis. 

Nocte dieque patent . 

Nulla quies intus, nullaque silentia parte.'" 

Is it just in Heaven to favor so the eyes 

With lids to keep out dust and glare and flies, 

And leave the poor ears open, night and day, 

To all each chattering fool may choose to say. 

To all assaults of sturdy hurdygurd, 

And grand -piano octave, chord, and third, 

And rapid volley of well - quavered note. 

Out of wide gaping, husband -seeking throat, 

And fiddle squeak, and railway whistle shrill, 

Big drum and little drum and beetling mill, 

Trumpet and fife, triangle and trombone, 

And hiss and shout and scream and grunt and groan? 

Be gracious, Heaven ! and, if no law forbid, 

Grant the distracted ear such share of lid 

That we may sometimes soundly sleep at night. 

Not kept awake until the dawning light. 

By rattling window -sash, or miauling cat, 

Or howling dog, or nibbling mouse or rat, 

Or cooped-up capon fain like cock to crow, 

Or carts that down the paved street clattering go, 

Or nurse, in the next room, and sickly child, 

Warbling by turns their native woodnotes wild. 

Judge us not by thyself, who darest not sleep. 

But open always, day and night, must keep 

Both eye and ear, to see and hear how go 

All things above the clouds, and all below; 

Lids for thine ears, as for thine eyes, were worse 

Than useless, an impediment and curse ; 


We, with less care, our eyes are free to close 

At night, or for an after-dinner doze, 

And for this purpose thou hast kindly given, 

And with a bounty worthy of high Heaven, 

Each eye a pair of lids. One lid might do 

For each ear, if thou wilt not hear of two. 

One large, well fitting lid; and night and day, 

As bound in duty, we will ever pray ; 

And thou with satisfaction shalt behold 

Our ears no less protected from the cold 

Than our dear eyes, and never more need'st fear 

That to thy word we turn a hard, deaf ear; 

Never more fear that discord should arise 

And jealous bickerings between ears and eyes, 

Both members of one body corporate, 

Both loyal subjects of one church and state; 

Never more see us, on a frosty day, 

Stuffing in cotton, or hear caviller say : 

"I 'd like to know why fallen less happy lot 

On ear than on snuffbox and mustardpot; 

What is it ever ear thought or ear did, 

To disentitle it to its share of lid?" 

Earlids, kind Heaven, or who knows what — ? But no! 

Silence, rebellious tongue, and let ear go 

And plead its own case. Lidless, Heaven's own ear, 

And, whether it will or not, must always hear. 

[Walking from Revere to Verona, July 22 and 23, and in Dresden, Oct. 
22, 1865.] 


W iTH ways and means , if you 're a cheat, 

Something you still will get to eat; 

But devil -a -bit you '11 get to eat 

With ways and means, if you 're no cheat. 

(Struvestrasse , Dresden, March 4. 1866.] 


VVlSEK than Athens' wisest, Britain's wisest, 

Dying, palavered not of dualism 

And the dead man's tomorrow, nor a cock 

Offered to Aesculapius, hut sat down 

In his great elbow-chair, and set his watch. 

And asked what news, and lit his pipe and smoked, 

And for the last time listened to Bow bells, 

And one of his attendants to another 

Said, anxious looking at him: "He is dead." 

[Chbistianstrasse. Dresden. Dec. 16, 1865.] 


My brothers are my equals; God 's the same 

Kind, good, considerate God to all his children. 

Who 've, every one, the same rights as myself. 

Of course I don't include among God's children 

Having the same rights as myself, my sistery : 

I 'd rather die, and go to heaven offhand, 

Where neither hes nor shes find entrance ever, 

But only its — the paradise of neuters — 

Than by the sexus sequior so be swamped. 

Nature abhors a vacuum 5 I , a bloomer. 

Hurrah then for fraternity ! hurrah ! 

For LIBERTY hurrah , and equal rights ! 

To hell with sororietyI down! down! 

We 're all alike God's children; God 's the same 

Kind, even-handed parent to us all, 

Rich, poor, and young and old, unlearned and learned, 

Wise, fool, and good and bad — except the women. 

jSxBUVESTRASSE, DRESDEN, Jan. 12, 1866.] 



What brings thee here? hast any news to tell, 

Or goods for other goods or cash , to sell ? 

"Out of the fray I bring with me my skin; 

Open, Saint Peter dear, and let me in." 

No rag of skin 's admitted here; go back, 

And hang both skin and bones np on the rack. 

Then come again, and to the company. 

Be it late or early, I '11 admit thee free. 

"Thank thee , Saint Peter ; but when I come back, 

Leaving both bones and skin hung on the rack. 

What need have I of porter or of gate, 

— Whether it 's early, I come back, or late — 

Or place in heaven at all, or company? 

Spirit fills no place and can nowhere be; 

Good bye. Saint Peter, and remember me." 

[Struvestrasse , Dresden, Jan. 20, 1866.] 

JjY what mistake were pigeons made so happy, 

So plump and fat and sleek and well content, 

So little with affairs of others meddling. 

So little meddled with? say, collared dog. 

And hard worked ox, and horse still harder worked, 

And caged canary, why, uncribbed, unmaimed, 

Unworked and of its will lord absolute. 

The pigeon sole has free board and free quarters, 

Till at its throat the knife, and pigeon pie 

Must smoke ere noon upon the parson's table; 

Say, if ye can; I cannot, for the life o' me; 

But, wheresoe'er I go, I find it so; 


The pigeon of all things that walk or fly 

Or swim or creep, the best cared- for and happiest; 

Ornament ever fresh and ever fair 

Of castle and of cottage, palace roof 

And village street, alike, and stubble field, 

And every eye and volute of the minster; 

Philosopher's and poet's and my own 

Envy and admiration, theme and riddle; 

Emblem and hieroglyphic of the third 

Integral unit of the Trinity; 

Not even by pagan set to heavier task 

Than draw the car of Venus; since the deluge 

Never once asked to carry in the bill, 

And by the telegraph and penny -post 

Released for ever from all charge of letters. 

[Christianstrasse , Dresden, Oct. 31, 1865.] 

What is a beggar? one well skilled to pray 

Blessings on you he can't get for himself. 

And fill with wind the charitable void 

Left in your strong box by each doit you fling him. 

A Jew he is, who barters for hard cash 

His cheques upon a bank in which he has neither 

Credit nor assets. Saint, in honor held 

By the wide proletariat just one peg 

Lower than Peter, down the scale, or Paul, 

He is a bug upon the prince's coat, 

A boil, an ulcer on the bloated cheek 

Of city alderman and councillor, 

A hole in the bottom of the tradesman's till, 

Through which the silver penny daily drops 

Down into bottomless vacuity. 

He is a mad dog hunted from the street, 

Market and promenade by the police; 


A pest- infected — shut up, prisoner close, 

In Lazar- house as long as the breath 's in him 

And through the tiles no golden Jove slides down 

In quest of some Acrisian in the workhouse, 

Until at last — if no Acrisian 'g there, 

Nor up the corridor comes bolting in, 

Some twentyninth of February morning, 

Angel deliverer in the radiant shape 

Of miser legacy of long forgotten 

Thirty -first cousin, far beyond th' Atlantic — 

A shell 's provided, and sir Lazarus 

Packed off direct to father Abraham's bosom, 

There to rejoice for ever, singing psalms 

Never so much as dreamt of by divine 

Plato, or Zoroaster or Confucius, 

While David on his harp accompanies, 

And pardoned felons listen and applaud, 

And eveiy now and then an echo swings 

Down heavily through Chaos to where Solon, 

Numa and Titus, in thick darkness sitting, 

Gnash with their teeth, and wonder what has happened. 

[Walking from STREm-.EN to Dresdkn , March 3, 1866.] 

What 's the main difference, tell me if you can, 
Between the English and the Irish man." 
The Englishman, in want of cash, the life 
Insures of his dear child or dearer wife; 
Then, as his house so pestered is with rats, 
In spite of all his traps and dogs and eats. 
Buys, neat wrapped up in paper white and clean, 
Some half dozen grains of arsenic or strychnine 
Which gets — no one knows how — into the tea 
Of wife or child, and - a rich man is he. 
But Paddy 'b of a different mould, and cash 
With him is, as 'twas with the apostles, trash. 

21 f" 


So when the oestrus stings him, he drives lead 
From his revolver through his landlord's head, 
And makes off to America, if he can, 
There to turn Fenian or some other plan 
Hit on of dying no richer than before 
He changed for Yankee land his native shore. 
Yet this main difference, in th« end, 's but small, 
Nay, well considered, almost none at all ; 
For each, as death approaches, grows contrite, 
And by repentance makes his conscience light; 
His sins confesses, and, through Christ forgiven, 
Spurns with his feet the earth, and soars to heaven, 
There to rejoice for ever with the just 
And all who put in Christ their only trust; 
For all incompetent mere mortal judge, 
And codes of morals are but codes of fudge. 

pWalking from Strehlen to Dresden, March 9, 1866.] 

Striking a tight, at night. 

riRST for the Bible, then the printing-press. 
Most for the lucifer match, the Gods I bless; 
Without the other two, at dead of night, 
What were the first?" 1 said, and struck a light. 

[Struvestrasse, Dresden, Jau. 25, 1866.] 

"1 NEVER fleeced my friend." 'Tt may be true; 
But if you didn't, be sure, your friend fleeced you. 
Ovunque il guardo osservator tu giri, 
Scorticatori , e scorticati miri." 

(Struvestrasse, Dresden, Jan. 21, 18G6. 



Oix days thou hast to advertise thiue OAvn self: 
Thy shop, thy wares, thy works of every kind. 
I claim the seventh day; on that day thou shalt 
Advertise me, me only" — saith the Lord. 
[Struvestrasse , Dresden, May 3, 1866.] 

We 're the superior creature," I heard once 
One of my sex say to a female friend. 
"In sign whereof," said she, "ye go about 
Smoking, and spitting upon all ye meet; 
Look at my gown, look here." "An accident 
Not easy in the street to be avoided" — 
"So long as the superior creature 's proud 
To practise what the inferior creature may not. 
Without incurring infamy, descend to." 

[Walking from Dresden to Klotscha, Jan. 5, 1866.] 


JjiE, and lie still, and keep away from rhymes, 
And browbeat all the world, and be THE TIMES, 
And for three pence your separate numbers sell, 
And take the title WE and use it well. 
To none responsible; and still make sport 
Of Celt and Celtic. — 

Given at our court 
Of Humbug, in our city of Cocaigne, 
This thousandth anniversary of our reign. 
And signed with our cross manual, and sealed: 
Reinecke Fuchs rampant, gules, on argent field. 

[Struvestrasse, Dresden, March 15, 1866.] 


"Aerane tantum 

Aere repulsa valent et adunco tibia cornu?" 

Music alone, of all the arts I know, 

Finds equal grace in heaven and here below; 

Why, but because Zeus has a tutored ear, 

And dearly loves do re mi fa to hear? 

Therefore Zeus raises Music from the tomb, 

Takes Music to him into Kingdom Come, 

Leaving to rot here on the earth below. 

All else we have learned, all else we feel and know. 

Thrice happy Mozart, on that awful day. 

Thrice happy Handel! ye shall sing and play; 

And Catalani's notes, all notes above. 

Take by sweet storm the enraptured ear of Jove ; 

And angels forward lean on tippy toe. 

And lend a helping hand , as , from below. 

Clearing the ladder's last steep step, each one 

On heaven's broad pavement lays his burthen down: 

Flutes, pipes, accordions, hautboys, mandolines. 

Drums, kettle-drums, triangles, tambourines, 

And great, resounding big drums — tum ! turn ! turn ! 

And organs loud enough to make the dumb 

Their deaf ears rub, and joybells, many a peal. 

Ding-donging, caps of bronze and tongues of steel: 

Single, plain bob and grandsire bob , they ring, 

Bob major and bob minor — ding! dong! ding! 

You 'd swear 'twas Bow called Whittington again, 

To hang about his neck the lord mayor's chain: 

"Turn again, Whittington, to London town. 

The Mansion House and aldermanic gown." 

And Paganini in his pocket brings 

His scutty fiddle, and four extra strings 

In case of a mishap; and great bass moans 

Sullen, and Scottish bagpipe whines and drones, 

■.>•.> 1 

And Tara's harp on Tara's wall no more 
Its tale of ruin tells, but, at heaven's door, 
New strung and burnished, for the overture 
Preludes, and gathers odd pence for the poor. 
And portering caryatides set down 
Ponderous pianos — Liszt's and Thalberg's own — 
And handier concertinas, and whole sets 
Of music -glasses, strings of castanets, 
Boxes of resin, catgut, tuning- keys, 
Jew's -trumps, and fiddle -sticks, and what you please. 
And now I hear their voices, see their faces. 
Fingers, stops, pedals, scores, and dire grimaces; 
And warder Peter, all in ecstasies, 
Shuffles time with his feet and with the keys, 
And follows from the gate to hear again 
That dying fall, that spirit-stirring strain; 
And Orpheus and Musaeus are forgiven 
Old counts, and on the second seats in heaven 
Sit lilting down, when "Lo ! Cecilia comes," 
A voice cries; "sound your trumpets, beat your drums." 
And, by her angel cicisbeo led, 
White lily in her hand, upon her head 
Garland of amaranth and roses red. 
And by the earthly partner of her bed 
Followed at humble distance, enters in 
Th' inventress of the organ, music's queen. 
And takes her place, and th' overtures begin 
Of heaven's grand opera — I '11 not be there. 
But Beethoven will, who not one squeak can hear, 
Who, when he should lift high, sinks low his wand, 
And regulates the whole with master hand. 
Zeus is the word, with Zeus they all begin, 
Zeus, Zeus, and Zeus again, with such a din 
The devils hear it on the distant shore 
Of their blue -burning lake, and with a roar 
Answer, which shakes the brazen concave round, 
And hell and heaven alike are stunned with sound. 
[Christian STRA8SE, Dresden, Dec. li"), 1865.J 



{Titles are printed in capital letters, first lines in ordinary type.] 


Under a dead butterfly 1 

Thanks, Fortune I that thou sent'st into the world ........ 1 

The pious Christian says the Turk 's quite wrong 2 

This infinite goodness which we see all round us 2 

"Thank thee , kind Providence," the cuckoo said 2 

The four happy beasts 3 

There is a way to be by all beloved 4 

I don't know which is worse, the Turk or Heathen 4 

"Who 'U buy my poems? wJio '11 buy?" 5 

The pious man alone makes wa}' with God 5 

Inscription for a dog's collar ....... 6 

Hush! not one word about it! here s my child 6 

If I said truth, forgive me, good, kind friend 6 

Providence 7 

The king walked out 7 

Go to! Go to! thou that believ'st thy soul 8 

Religion learns addition well ... 8 

No statute against lying; why? because 9 

With memory short and understanding weak 9 

1 ask no better omen of my lore 10 

Happy and good, who well deceives his foes .10 

It 's a holy whim , a holy whim 11 

Unlamented, well deserving 11 

My countiy's language is tlie stone of which 12 

ever- trundling Dresden, if so few 12 

Firm to the truth adl^ere so long as thou gain'st by it. . . .12 

1 took my dog with me, one day, to church 13 

Thou, pious Christian, when tbou diest bring'st with thee 13 

Under a picture ok miss louisa grace's dog, Aii 14 

I would not he Ali — not for the whole 14 

A fine, hopeful boy, your Tommy 15 

I saw him pick it up; it was a rag 16 


Adam's epitaph 17 

*'This world's goods are dross and rubbish" 17 

This life 's a jest, you wicked poet 18 

Arrant cheats, as all the world knows 18 

Thou praisest, blessest, glorifiest God 19 

Miles vetus and tiro 19 

If he 's religious who believes in one 20 

Tommy and neddy 20 

Being themselves of all the whole , wide world's 21 

Lady gout 22 

Julian and gallus 23 

So thou hast been at Delphi, yet not learned 24 

She was a gallant ship, that, many a day 24 

Sunday - school pupil and monitor 25 

Christ's kingdom is of love, pure love alone 26 

Once upon a time a young man 27 

This bread 's my body, and this wine 's my blood 28 

God's will be done! God's will is always good 28 

The lord and adam 29 

Dervis and bible -reader 30 

Painter, wouldst thou paint a young man 31 

He that has lost his lAst tooth may bid bold 32 


Reason shines in his front erect, they say 37 

Tommy and his master 38 

Ira deum 40 

The poet's proper aim, they say, 's to please 41 

Headache and heartache, toothache and the rheum 41 

Learn something every day, and every night 42 

Where three roads met, stood Hecate with three heads 42 

Theist and atheist 43 

Easiest of all to understand, is that 44 

to a baby smiling in its cradle 44 

Dora and her maid of all work 45 

A hundred years long, to the fire thou mayst pray 49 

Monk martin 49 

Fidei confessio ^0 

"The conscious water saw its God and blushed." 52 

If it 's right to do it ^>3 

rvoj&t oeavrov ^'' 

It is a star. — And what 's to me a star? r)4 

Sixty- five years ago, or maybe seventy '^>4 

Jockey and sportsman '^'' 

Stone-blind Assisi's saint, else, with so long ^•^> 

Impossible, impossible remains *^ 

The difference essential between man and beast '^^ 


' Page 

God either did not choose, or was not able 56 

Once upon a time I prdyed God 57 

So gross and impious fanatics , these Rayas 57 

The lamb and its shearer 58 

Religions change ; the new drives out the old . 58 

Thou need'st not punish us , revengeful Maker 59 

Away with Gods! away with Fate! 59 

There is one folly which exceeds all others 59 

It is a lovely sight to see 60 

Napoleon, ambidexter, with one hand 61 

Pray Heaven forgive me! but I never hear 62 

Pro deo, lege, rege. Why? because 62 

Some say the world by accident was made 62 

The tenth beatitude 62 

Why did God give Man reason, make him wise 63 

It is an apple — Ay me! so it is 63 

Jove reigns supreme in heaven , and Dis in hell 63 

Sceptic and believer 64 

Old-world stories. I. the creation 65 

II. ADAM and eve 72 


IV. noah's ark 81 

v. the tower of babel 100 

vi. abraham 102 

Nemesis 126 


The HOUSE that zeus built 127 

Invocation of the blessed virgin, matilda of eisleben 127 

Man, of all animals, has the strongest faith 139 

Live, while thou liv'st; and, when thou com'st to die 140 

"Next time you 're making a great world," to God 140 

Life's minutes 142 

World's minutes 142 

"Vox populi vox del." To be sure! 143 

Genus homo 143 

Why I 'm not popular 's in one word told 148 

What a pity Gambrinus a temple built not 149 

Here 's my faith, my chapel here 149 

"All things require a maker." To be sure ! 150 

The holy friar 150 

Quem creavit adoravit 152 

You say the priests deceive the people; I 153 

Roma, capitale d' italia 155 

Well! I '11 be patient, to myself I said 156 

The congress 157 

God and gold . . 158 



The go-between 159 

If this beer -can a chapel were 160 

Gunpowder, Steam, and Printing, and The Wire 161 

Who 's the great sinner? He, who gave the power 161 

She begged my alms because she mas a widow 162 

He died unwept. "Because he went to heaven?" • • 162 

My first director on the way to knowledge 163 

To THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON III. RoMCi, ccipUale d' Ilaliii 175 

Hard to be pleased, who thinkest ill of Man 170 

Under a portrait of garibaldi ^'" 

She died; that is, she ceased and was no more 177 

The dog his food takes from his master's hand 177 

Nay, don't be angry, friend! have pity on them 177 

"Man's choice is free." Ay, to be sure! ^78 

All Inspiration from above descends 1^0 

Pater quis est, die mi, sodes ^^^ 

What animal is it, gains by losing one 1^1 

Why has no eye beyond the tomb seen aught? 181 

God made the world, there 's not a child but knows it 182 

Rubbed out 

Inscriptions for the pedestal of thomas little moobe's statue . . 183 

A famous punster once said to a friend 

'Tis a dull circle that we tread . 184= 

lenorance is bliss, for first it saves the pain 184 

Prince albert 

Two Hands there are that shuffle all the cards 186 

Unhappy man! a little wiser than 18b 

T 187 

John tetzel 

All 's wise and good, they say, and of design 190 

How much we have improved, let Juvenal say 190 

Scroll for thomas little moore's statue 191 

Number three ' 

The saying can't be too oft repeated 

I 'm in this faith a firm believer Ij^^ 


What! Man no more than a mere reasoning beast ^^^ 

Fear 's a great maker: first she made the Devil 203 


Which side shall conquer? Both sides have the right ^04 

Behold in Christ the sober, matron hen 20 

Our coft'ee boils; our hostess at the fire 

What for, two Gods? why doubled the expense? ^Ob 

The two barbers of freedomtown 

Happy the man who has neither wife nor child! 

gott segne dies haus . 

Cradle hymn, suggested by dr. watts's 



'Twas a mower a -mowing stood under a tree 212 

Is it just in Heaven to favor so the eyes 213 

Ways and means 214 

Wiser than Athens' wisest, Britain's wisest 215 

Liberty, equality, fraternity 215 

Fare age, quid ventas; jam istinc 216 

By what mistake were pigeons made so happy 216 

What is a beggar? one well skilled to pray 217 

What 's the main diflference, tell me if you can 218 

Striking a light, at night 219 

"I never fleeced my friend." It may be true 219 

Institution op the sabbath 220 

"We 're the superior creature," I heard once 220 

Charter of the times newspaper 220 

Music alone, of all the arts I know 221 


Page 114, line 15 from bottom, del. comma at end of line. 
157, line 8 from top, insert comma after third. 
157, line 5 from bottom, insert comma after it. 
173, lines 12 and 23 from top, instead of Lever's read Laver's. 


Of all earth's various sucking tribes, the tribe 
By naturalists denominated Smokers, 
Suck longest, to the dug with desperate lips 
Clinging the whole day long and half the night, 
Till Death his aloe fingers thrusts between, 
And, odious drynurse, carries off by force 
And weans the sore recalcitrating babe. 

[ZscHERTNiTz near Dresden, May 13, 1866.] 

Vox populi, vox dei." To be sure! 
And surer still: Vox dei, populi vox. 
The marionnette's voice is the voice of him 
Who made the marionnette and pulls the wires. 

[Struvestrasse, Dreden, May 16, 1866.]